My father was/is my hero. He died at the age of 57 when I was just 20. And because I was so young, it had not occurred to me to ask him a large number of questions plus just talking to him about things in general.

I am the eldest of three children my parents had and simple math shows that my father was much older than most people who were having children, particularly when considering how old a parent is when having that first child. My mother was 35 when I was born. That was in 1949 and at the time having a first child at that age was considered bordering on dangerous. Of course, it wasn’t as we know today.

My father lived in a large old house, built in 1790, a farmhouse style home, that my family occupied since 1791. The makeup of my family in 1912, when my father was born, was an upper middle-class family, a family that could afford to have a cook and housekeeper. My grandfather was a graduate of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and had a strange feeling towards his children and their education. While two of my three uncles went to college, my father graduated from Wentworth Institute of Technology, a trade school in those days that had strong ties to the textile industry of Massachusetts. The industry was quite extensive at that time and my father, who graduated in 1932, became an employee at the J. P. Stevens Mill in North Andover Massachusetts, his hometown. When the war broke out in 1941, my father delayed his entry into the service because of his father’s impending death.

My father served in the U.S. Army Air Corps and was part of the armament section for a B-26 which had him serving in Morocco, Algeria, Italy and finally France. He declined a promotion that would have required his transfer to the Pacific theater of operations. But when he returned home, a law which required J. P. Stevens to take him back, was ignored and he was told his position no longer existed. A patent lie but my father was a gentle man who was not one to take issue.

From what I have told you, you might think I knew so much about my father. But those unasked questions came to surface when I interviewed his sister Charlotte in 1988. Even that interview was wanting for a more logical and extensive series of questions. Still, I learned a lot about my father’s family experience through her. But still, it was not done in his words.

A sampling of questions I might have asked: What are your earliest memories of your family? What were Thanksgiving and Christmas like? Tell me about your going to the Center School (elementary) and Johnson High School. Why did you want to go to Wentworth instead of a 4-year college? Why did you end up getting our house instead of Uncle Ike or Uncle John? Why did you go into the jewelry business and watch repair? How did you learn to repair watches? I am certain that were I to sit with myself, I could easily come up with 100 questions I would love to hear the answer. But as I said, my father died when I was just 20 years old and too much “all about me” as is common among young men and women then and today.

Year later I got a master’s degree in U.S. history which brought home the idea of written family histories. My thesis would have been ever so much better had I known of personal journals of the people involved. After I retired from the Federal Government with 30 years of service, I went into teaching, and I frequently would tell the children to learn as much as they can about their family history. It is only to common for a person to say that their family history is boring. But it is not! Each of us is a part of history and we all witness history from out own unique view. That view can be crucial for future historians. This fact was brought home when I was writing a paper in grad school about the beginning of the Revolutionary War. I found the diary of a young man who lived just south of Boston and wrote down, albeit briefly, his take on the first shots of that war. That was invaluable.

Not to put too fine a point on this subject, I was taking the train from Boston to San Francisco (Oakland) when at dinner one day in one of the mid-west states, I was seated across from an elderly woman. I asked her the usual questions, where are you from and what did you do from work. From that modest beginning opened up a wealth of information, totally unexpected. She too had said hers was a boring background as she was “only” a schoolteacher in a one-room schoolhouse in southern Ohio. In the late 1980s that was a story worth telling.

I do not expect any young people to read this article, however, I know adults will. I implore those of you who are reading this article that you get a written history of your family of birth and that you pass on to your children your own personal experiences. The importance of having first-hand knowledge of the events of history is extremely important. What you experience is unique and worthy of being told to following generations. When history is written, it is these first-hand accounts that will give a much more full understanding of history.