Decluttering Unearths Interesting History and Connections

We all reach a point where decluttering has to be done, for our own sake as well as for those who we will probably leave with boxes and rooms full of "things" to be cleared, refiled or junked. In the process a couple of things are predictable. There are usually items found that you just can't let go of yet. These items get returned to their place in a box or a drawer to wait for another day or another set of less discriminating hands. Perhaps a certain find is deemed most important and is framed or scanned to be shared with others.

In my own case I recently began reviewing years of disorganized filing, historical documents, pictures, writing, etc. The whole process can be exhausting and exhilarating at the same time. It is exciting to find old items and renew memories or begin a whole new chapter of research.

My parents were both products of the depression and therefore were savers of paper documents of every type. When my father passed away in the mid 90's, he left very specific instructions on where things were, what they were, etc. He had three metal containers that would hardly survive a fire or flood, that held all sorts of personal documents of his and my mother. These were things like birth certificates, baptismal certificates, marriage certificates and copies of all. In my mother's case there were letters to offices of vital statistics pointing out errors in various dates on documents that needed correction, the corrected documents and even receipts for charges.

But there are other items that tell little stories about their lives. At the time of their marriage in the 1930's, my father had moved east from Jackson, Michigan. He had a sales job at a manufacturing plant in Newark, NJ but needed some additional money for the marriage. He borrowed $200 from his former employer, a pawn shop in Jackson. He kept the letter from these folks acknowledging his payment of the note a few years later. The letter is neatly folded in an envelope with an index card describing the details of the incident. He was obviously proud and grateful.

And then there's the letter from his employer in Newark, letting him know that he should take his time visiting with his family back in Jackson at the time of his father's heart attack and eventual death. It's a handwritten note from a fountain pen letting him know everything was fine, other than the dictaphone (a bosses trait). But again, this note had great meaning to my father. A related item sits with the note. It's a small notebook that my father used early in his career to design and price the items manufactured by his employer in Newark - cases and shipping containers. Every notation was in pencil - costs, materials needed and freehand designs.

All of these items ended up back in a folder to be shared with some of my father's grandchildren.

As I've continued my poking around (remember the goal is to declutter), I stumbled across some of my own real estate transactions. One was a Deed from a property I had owned in the 80's on North Glenora Rd in Dundee, NY. As I read the history of the property, I noticed that it was originally a part of the Samuel Eastman farm back in the late 1800's. Now here's where history and connections become intwined.

Sam Eastman was the pastor at the Park Church in Elmira, NY, a progressive congregation. He was a friend of and officiated at Samuel Clemen's (Mark Twain) funeral. Sam was the father of Crystal and Max Eastman, both noted radicals, socialists, anti-militarists, and advocates for women's suffrage. Besides living at Glenora, Max and Crystal spent a great deal of their lives in Greenwich Village. Crystal was a co-founder of the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) and Max was one of the editors of The Masses. He wrote against conscription into the armed forces as well as many leftist and social issues of the time. Here the connections become clearer. One of the young writers at The Masses at that time was a young Dorothy Day who would go on to co-found the Catholic Worker in NYC. Yes, the same Dorothy Day that I ended up working with in the mid-60's, writing, fighting for social justice, opposing the War in Vietnam, selective service and the draft.

When I lived at the property at Glenora, I knew about Max Eastman's family living in the same area. There was talk of the many visitors from Greenwich Village, artists, writers, etc. It wasn't until recently, however, when I found the old Deed that I became aware that the property I owned was originally a parcel of the Eastman farm. Now, one more thing to make a decision about - history and connections.