In Which My Mother Goes Erin Brockovich on Ferndale

You most likely know who Erin Brockovich is. Her story was made famous by Julia Roberts in the film called, "Erin Brockovich."


Erin was a legal clerk and environmental activist who, despite  any legal education, was instrumental in constructing a case against the Pacific Gas and Electric Company in 1993 for pollution of the groundwater and subsequent poisoning of people who lived there.


While chatting with my father this weekend, I learned my mother pulled an Erin Brockovich in about 1950 in Ferndale, Michigan. 








The red asterisk in the Google map screen shot shows where we lived at the time in Ferndale, on Woodland Ave. North of Nine Mile, east of Woodward Ave. What's important to note is the railroad running diagonally northwest-southeast just a block east of our house.

And if you check this photo screen grab, you can see there was (and still is) a big factory in between our house and the railroad. It is THIS factory that started all the fuss in our household.

If you study this photo of my mother and father taken shortly after the end of WWII,  you can see that Maxine was barely 90 pounds at the time and was not even five feet tall!


Even so, she was a feisty, independent woman who had waited her entire life to have a family (she was orphaned early and grew up with her older siblings all over the country). Now the war was over, and all she wanted for the rest of her life was a husband, a home, and children.


And so, about three years after this photo was taken, that's what she had. Dad was graduated from architectural school and working as an architect. They had purchased a home on Woodland Avenue.


I came along and then my sister came along. It was a pretty nice life for her--a dream come true. A cozy little house. A handsome husband who went off to the "office" during the day. A pretty mother who took care of her two cute little girls.


BUT, then, it happened.  One morning my mother discovered during the night the factory's chimneys has thrown something into the air and covered the lawns all around with a fine white powder! To say my mother was alarmed is an under-statement! I can imagine how angry she was! How worried for her children and all the other children in the area. Was it safe for her girls to play outside in the yard anymore? What could she do to protect her daughters from this unknown peril?


Well, here is what she did.


My mother organized all the women in her neighborhood. They marched down to the next city council meeting to confront the mayor and the city council, who I'm quite sure were all men. My dad stayed home to babysit the girls. There was my Momma, all 100 pounds and 4 feet 11 inches of her, bawling out the Mayor of Ferndale, Michigan!

And Dad remembers the Mayor agreed with my mother!


Dad doesn't remember what happened after that. It was over 60 years ago. Not much must have happened. Certainly no permanent resolution to the problem. No scientific tests of the white powder. No Erin Brockovich-type court case or monetary settlement for the injured.


He just remembers my Mom's battle with City Hall and the Mayor of Ferndale. And he remembers that not too long after that Mom found us a new house a few miles away from the factory. It all ended with an anti-climatic whisper and a move across town.

Here is a photo of my mother, father, sister and I taken a couple of years after this story took place. 
Also pictured: my grandparents, Eva and Clifford Knapp.

Until, 60 years later, my Dad told me this story for the very first time!


I now have a different image of my little Momma in my mind's eye. My pretty little Momma, who had her own personal Erin Brockovich moment--confronting the Ferndale City Council and Mayor and subsequently moving her precious family away from the Ferndale factory. 


I'm proud to have this new image in my mind! I didn't know she went to bat for her girls when we were only 3 and 1 years old. Good for you, Momma! I will think of you now as the Erin Brockovich of Ferndale, Michigan! You were quite the Woman!

Working with my Dad

My Dad and I are working together on his next book. He's writing poems and prose about growing up during the depression in a small town in Michigan. It's going to be called, MY FAMILY.

I visit his place every Tuesday and Thursday. We sit in his sunny office, Dad at his computer and I next to him at a little table.

Dad writes a new poem. I read it and make suggestions. He calls me his Editor! He and I discuss my suggestions. Most of the time he takes my advice. Sometimes, I have to admit he is right!

We are just about done with the book. Today, we talked about the submission process. We're going to submit to Michigan publishers.

Step One: Make a list of those publishers!

The BEST PART of this is SHARING TIME with my Dad! And learning wonderful things I never knew, especially about my grandfather and grandmother.

I don't know of a better way to spend my time!

I Spy Something Red...

...or Blue, or Purple, or Yellow, or Green. 

Remember that game? My sister and I loved to play that game when we were children growing up in Grand Rapids, Michigan in the 50s.

One day, we roped our Dad into playing the game. He got to start.

"I spy something...that is ALL colors!"

What?" we both hollered at once. "How can that be?"

"Well, I'm looking at it now and I see all the colors in the world," he said.

Laura and I started looking around the living room. Brown carpet, red couch, tan chairs, wooden table, very chic gray walls, tan drapes with small blocks of gray, black, and white (very 50s modern), BUT NOTHING with all the colors!

So we did what most little girls would have done. We started arguing with him!

"Are you sure, Daddy? There's nothing in this world that has all the colors! What if someone invented a new color?"

"That color would be there," Dad assured us.

We scoffed. How was this possible? We kept looking for a while and pestering Dad for clues or hints or SOMETHING that would head us in the right direction. But we couldn't figure it out.

And typical Daddy, he would simply NOT tell us! No matter how much we whined, or stomped our feet, or challenged him. He wouldn't tell us the answer! He never would. We knew that. We'd seen it again and again. So we eventually wandered off to get ready for bed.

Suddenly my sister yelped! And went barging out of our bedroom, back into the living room.

"I've got it!" she yelled at the top of her lungs. I slowly followed behind her, not really wanting her to have the answer because she was the younger girl and shouldn't I be the one to figure it out?

"It's a MIRROR!" she said, with all the drama a seven-year-old could muster.

Dad smiled. "You're right!" he said. "Good job!"

I couldn't bring myself to congratulate her. I was jealous, to put it mildly. I had wanted to be the one to get it first. Why did she have to be such a SmartyPants!

*********************************************

So why do I share this story on my Be Mindful of Your Ancestors Blog? Take a look at these photos:

My Great Grandmother

My Grandfather

My Father

Me where it all happened

What you're looking at is a long chain of people who have all done the same thing with their children! They've all challenged their children to think, to question, to ponder the puzzles of the world, and they haven't given them the answers. They've just planted the seeds in their fertile minds and let ideas grow.

In editing one of my father's poems, I've recently discovered that my Grandfather did this same thing with my Father, too. That's what made me think of the I SPY GAME we once played with him.

When I told Dad the story, he allowed as how his father is where he got this concept and that perhaps his father was raised the same way, because he remembers his grandmother, Janett doing the same thing with him.

I have certainly raised my own children with this idea of asking but not answering questions. I'm sure they remember this from their childhood, fondly, I hope, as I now do. (I'm actually proud of Laura, now!)

And, I suspect I will soon have to add another couple of photos to this chain of family questioners.

You guessed it!

Sarah with her father, Warren, also a good questioner

My Grandson, Danny

I am proud to be part of such a fun family tradition! And I hope to see it moving forward down through a few more generations.

Happy Fourth of July

These are the Americans I am most grateful for on this Day of Freedom. In no particular order, except for the Grandbaby! Who has gotta be Number1!

Meet Baby Danny!

And please pray for my cousin's son, Todd, who was airlifted to the University of Michigan's Trauma Center in acute respiratory distress.

My Mother's Credo

Ellen Maxine Gleason Knapp

I just discovered a copy of a hand-written note of my Mother's. It is SO typical of the way she lived her life! She was raised in abject poverty and loss as a child, but grew up to be one of the kindest, most gentle women I ever knew. It was a privilege to be her daughter. I learned from her how to be a good person. I still strive, as I'm sure she did, to live by this Credo.
And I still miss my sweet Mother.

Nina Adelaide

Nina Adelaide Weeks

She was the next oldest girl above my grandmother. There were three older sisters above her. That put her squarely in the middle of all those children, the eight who lived to see adulthood.

The next oldest girl above her was Winnie, who wasn't normal the way the rest of the Weeks were. She was a bit simple-minded, I've been told. Hard to say what that means in today's terms.

What that meant for Nina, most likely, was that she had to fight to hold her own with the two oldest girls.

I know for a fact that the two oldest girls, Rose and Myrtle, could dish it out pretty good. And the loneliness of that middle girl position meant that Nina had to fight for every square inch of territory.

That is mostly guesswork on my part, of course. I've been thinking about her lately in terms of family order.

This photo is what started me thinking:

Girls from l-r: Nina, Myrtle, Winnie, Rose, Eva.

Nina appears to be the smallest in size of all the girls, even though she's not the youngest. Rose, second from the right, had the most "power" of all the girls. Since I know Myrtle and Nina fought a lot as grown-ups, I was surprised to see them next to each other in this photo.

When you look at the following photo, showing them all in front of the farmhouse many years earlier, can you resist wondering about how all those girls got along? Not well from the stories I've heard.


Girls in front: Nina, Eva in wagon, Winnie
Girls in back: Rose and Myrtle

You can see the two oldest girls in the back are too old for playing. And of the three younger girls, Winnie is the oldest. Nina and Eva the youngest.

But Eva and Irving (pulling the wagon) were true best friends. They ran away from the older girls and hid in the orchard or the fields until the searching and calling ceased, then went on their merry way to play the day away. I know Nina and Winnie were grouped with the older girls on those days.

That left Nina to do chores with/for the older girls and resent Eva for leaving her to play with Irving.



Now, I know for a fact that my grandmother, Eva, was the sweetest of them all. Even so, in my childhood, I heard many squabbles between Eva and Nina but also between Nina and Myrtle.

My father tells how he and his sister, Louise, would make bets as to how long it would take them to start arguing as soon as Myrtle entered the farm kitchen for a visit with Nina. Not very long was Dad's recollection.


Nina, Myrtle, and Eva

• I know Aunt Nina was my favorite of all of them, next to my grandmother, Eva.
• I know Aunt Nina had a sharp tongue and fussy expectations.
• I also know I loved Aunt Nina even so because the other side of her was magical. Full of wonder: stories, camp songs, outings and activities for grandnieces.

If I was careful to follow her rules and not get her dander up, she was the adult in my life who had more time for me than any other. She would play games for hours, take us on trips around the county, read or tell stories till darkness fell...


Laura, Nina, Marcia

She gave of her TIME and ATTENTION to my sister and I like no one else did.

So even though she was the middle child, sisterless in a sea of sisters, she grew up to be the one with the most dynamism, the most ambition, the most sparkle in her personality.

She was the one kids flocked around--all my cousins have great memories of her--my sister and I were devoted to her.

And I would say, without a doubt, we still are.

Veteran's Day Salute

I am proud of the Service Men in my family.

My father, E. John Knapp. who served in WWII:



My husband, Warren Krech, who served during the Viet Nam War:



My son, Ben Krech, who is now in Basic Training in Fort Leonard Wood, MO:



A BIG hug and a thank you for your service to our country!
I love you all.

Michigan to Missouri, Missouri to Michigan

MICHIGAN TO MISSOURI

Within in the space of seven days, a couple of rare visits occurred in my life. They are so rare and strangely coincidental as to raise the hairs on the back of a neck.

A quick background: I was born and raised in Michigan. Born in Detroit, raised in Grand Rapids. My family on my father's side originated on a Farm in Kent County, about a half hour northeast of Grand Rapids. It's still a"mecca" for my family, most sides of it.



Of the eight children of my great grandfather, John I. Weeks, who lived to adulthood only four had children of their own: John P, Grant, Myrtle, and Eva. I have until lately experienced almost no contact or knowledge of any of the lines other than my own, the Eva branch.


Irving, Grant, Nina, Myrtle, John P., Winnie, Rose, Eva

A couple of years ago, I began an email/telephone relationship with a second cousin from the John P. branch, Lois. I quite honestly had no idea she existed when I was a kid, and come to find out, the same went for her.



At the funeral of my dear cousin, Bud, I ran into my newly befriended cousin, Lois, and invited her down to Missouri for a visit. And last weekend, we finally pulled it off. Lois drove to Missouri, bringing many Michigan treasures with her to my home in Missouri.

I honestly have to say, it felt like my childhood STATE of Michigan came to Missouri to visit me. It was a great visit.

Lois and Marcia

We shared many photos, discovered Lois in many of my old photos of the Farm--I just didn't know it was her--oohed and aahed over many ancient Family treasures, and shared many family stories and memories. It's quite rare for me to run into someone who remembers the same old people and places from long ago.

Lois is the pig-tailed girl with the patterned skirt.

My dad is on the right with his camera.

I will blog again on some of our nicest moments, including, a treasure trove of art drawn by my grandfather, Clifford that NO ONE, including my father ever knew about, also rare Bibles, books, photos, and stories of the Farm.

MISSOURI TO MICHIGAN

Now, the mirror image, sort of...



My daughter, Sarah, flew to Detroit early this week. Yup, a member of my immediate family here in Missouri actually went back to my birth city for a quick business trip! I'm thinking this was probably the first time she has ever stepped FOOT in the state of my childhood.

I don't find the business trip itself odd. Sarah travels for her job. It's just the positioning of this trip--occurring at the same time that Lois was driving back to Grand Rapids, Michigan--that strikes me as interesting.

Sentimental old fool that I am, I feel all warm inside when I think about it all. Michigan to Missouri, Missouri to Michigan. It's not often a person gets a chance to revisit memories and childhood with such intensity. The normal hub-bub of life usually takes precedence over warm fuzzies.

Sure is fun, though. And to top it all off, I drove to St. Louis this weekend to visit my daughter Sarah and her husband, Dan. I helped her put on a baby shower for Dan's sister, Colleen.


Colleen and Sarah

The Circle of Life moves on...

The Significance of a Feather

The Significant Feather

See the feather in this photo? I call it "A Significant Feather."

My sister, Laura, her daughter, Abby and her four grandchildren had stopped off for the weekend on their 3 day journey from Wisconsin to Texas. We had a full house with kids running everywhere, women cooking, my daughter and my father coming over to visit, and kids running in and out of the house...


Abby and Collette, Laura, Marcia, Sarah and Ellen (named after my mother)

Family weekends like this are rare and special because we live so far from most of them. I relished every moment. And planned the next meal. And baked a cake for my sister and Dad's joint birthday celebration on Sunday. And cleaned, and cooked, and wrapped presents...

You get the idea. I was busy.

While I was being a good hostess, cooking, cleaning, visiting--I have one vague memory that stands out, that I go back in my mind every once in a while now that they are all gone and the house has quieted down.


Calvin, great grandfather John, Josh
(feather is visible above Josh's head-click on photo)

Abby's oldest boy, Josh--or quite truthfully, it could have been Calvin, the younger of the boys--came into the house with a bird feather--the one that now sits on a table in my living room. I was bustling around the house, trying to get presents wrapped for the party, not really paying attention to the boy and his feather.

I remember hearing him tell his mother or grandmother about the bird feather. Where he'd found it outside in Aunt Marcia's yard. What kind of bird was it? Did a bird die if it lost too many feathers? The usual boyhood questions.

At the time I felt a minuscule nudge in my heart as this exchange moved through the house. I don't remember why I didn't go over to look, or have him put the feather where it rightfully belonged. Too busy, perhaps, or not wanting to interrupt. And later I discovered the feather sitting on the table where it still sits.


The Family Farm, an oil painting by Dan Radig

But now as I look back on this moment, I remember wandering the yard at the Farm, finding feathers of my own. Big feathers, small feathers--perfect and imperfect feathers. I remember taking them inside the farmhouse to show my Aunt Nina. I remember talking with her about the feather. Asking my own questions about the birds. I remember the patience of my great aunt, her willingness to pause her life and share a feather moment with her niece.


The Feather Box

I remember walking into the sitting room with Aunt Nina and watching her take down the feather box from the shelf by the front door. She would carefully open the box as she set it on a table. We would look inside the box at all the other feathers, picking up one at a time, reliving last summer's findings. Then I would add my feather to the collection and Aunt Nina would close the box and put it back in its place of honor on the shelf. And I would wander off to my next adventure.


My sister Laura, Aunt Nina, and Marcia (me)

My father gave me the feather box a few summers ago while I was up in St. Paul, Minnesota on a summer visit. I added a label to the bottom of it when I got home to my Missouri home.


The Feather Box's Labels

I could have asked Josh (or Calvin?) to put the feather in the Feather Box. I could have been Aunt Nina to my sister's grandson. But I was too busy and the moment passed. And I'm not too sad I let it move on without me.


My sister, Laura, my Dad, John, my niece, Abby and her four children

I had many other moments that weekend to be Aunt Nina to these four wonderful children. And maybe next summer, there will be another Significant Feather to add to the Feather Box. And I will stop and be Aunt Nina to a great nephew with a feather.

UPDATE:
I was just talking with my father. He is the son of my Aunt Nina's sister, Eva, who is of course, my dear grandmother. Dad told me I "got it right." He remembers doing the same thing with his grandmother at the Farm.

"Wait a minute, Dad," I said. "Are you telling me that Jessie started the Feather Box Collection?"


Jessie Florence Russell Weeks

"Yes," he said. "And I remember her explaining it all to me when I was a little boy. I loved bringing new feathers to her Feather Box!"

So now you have the rest of the story. It wasn't Aunt Nina who started the Feather Box Family Tradition! It was her mother, Jessie Florence Russell Weeks, who is my great-grandmother! It turns out to be a true six-generation-tradition!

Makes me even more resolved to be a good Keeper of the Feather Box Collection. I can't help wondering what happened to all those feathers! No worry! The next generation down and I will be filling that box up with beautiful bird feathers over the next few years, you can count on it!

Family Farm Photos

Here is a photo taken in 1893. My grandmother, Eva Weeks Knapp, is the little blond cherub in the wagon. All ten of Eva's grandchildren have spent time in this front yard as children.

We lost one of those 10 grandchildren this past week. Robert Hayes Knapp passed away on July 13, 2009. We will miss you, Bud!

After burying Bud in Ashley Cemetery, where many of our ancestors were also buried in the last century, we took another photo in the front yard of the Farm. Every person in the photo is related to or married to someone who is related to someone in the first photo.



Both of these photos are family treasures!

NOTE: You can see some changes made over time to the Farm. A much larger porch was added early in the 20th century. Many of us played and/or slept on this porch as children. The attic was raised late in the 20th century, adding several more rooms on the second floor.

Grandpa John's Test Video

The latest video from our son, Ben, on his Grandpa John's trip to the WWII Memorial in Washington, D.C. Come back for more soon!

Warren Interviews John About D-Day

E John Knapp Interview, Part 1



E John Knapp Interview, Part 2



E John Knapp Interview, Part 3

E. John Knapp, WWII War Hero

E. John Knapp, American Hero, visiting WWI Memorial in Washington, D.C.
Photo by Ben Krech

My 93 year old father is visiting the WWII War Memorial in Washington, D.C. today. He took an Honor Flight from mid-Missouri along with many other WWII vets to visit the Memorials. Many surprises awaited him on his journey.

My son, Ben Krech, who lives in D.C., is with him today and has provided the comments and photos below:


Gate A1 at BWI is decorated for the arrival
of the Missouri vets! Major points for Southwest.



Grandpa John and the vets arrived to a heroes welcome!
A hundred people clapping and waving flags.



Grandpa at the WWII memorial. We made it!

Quote from Grandpa John: "The beauty and design
of the WWII Memorial is breathtaking and appropriate
for what designers were trying to do."



Leaving the Korean Memorial. Grandpa is
impressed and in high spirits.




With the vets at Arlington Cemetery.
Saw the changing of the guards at the
tomb of the unknown soldiers.

Air Force Memorial, check. Next stop BWI airport.
These vets are getting a bit tired, but they've had a great time...



The Central Missouri Honor Flight
was a great success!
Grandpa John had a blast.


Ben and Grandpa John on the Tour Bus
Photo by Ben Krech