The boy in the picture
The attic was a place where, it seemed, anything might be found.
Old clothes to dress up in.
A place to hide when the younger kids were just too annoying.
An education in anatomy, through the … um … unclad figures in my father’s old how-to-do-photography books.
And the boy in the picture.
I will never forget the day I found that boy. I was probably 10 years old or so, up in the attic of the house where I grew up, and poking around in the boxes that were stashed up there.
And I came across what I remember as a small box inside a bigger box inside a bigger box.
And it had pictures. Mostly of people I didn’t know. But then there was that one that had someone I did know.
On the left (as I recall) was my father, in a tuxedo. On the right, a woman in a wedding gown.
A woman who, it was abundantly clear from her blond hair and light eyes, was not my brown-haired brown-eyed mother.
Now that photo, as I recall, didn’t really arouse my interest much at all. My mother’s family was the only family I ever knew growing up — my father’s parents were dead before I was born — and in my mother’s family, multiple marriages weren’t exactly rare. The number of former aunts and uncles by marriage on that side greatly exceeds the number of aunts and uncles by birth.
No, I don’t remember even wondering much about that photo of my father and the woman who wasn’t my mother. Maybe it was just that whoever she was didn’t have anything to do with me. And maybe it was because of the photo underneath that photo.
The photo you see here.
The photo of the boy.
Before that day in that attic all those years ago I knew I had one older sibling — a sister, Diana.
But that day in that attic all those years ago I knew somehow immediately.
I knew we had another older sibling.
A brother.
The boy in the picture.
I don’t remember ever thinking, not even for one minute, that perhaps he might not have survived. That the reason why my father had been free to marry my mother might have been because of death, rather than divorce.
What I knew, beyond any question, was that there was a boy out there who was my brother. My older brother. Mine. And I wanted him.
What I didn’t know, then or for years afterwards, was how to go about getting that brother into my life.
It just wasn’t in the cards for that kid aged 10 or so to go downstairs and strike up a conversation: “Hey Dad, about that first marriage and the boy in the picture…” My German-born father rarely spoke about his life before he met my mother. It wasn’t until I got into genealogy, years after his death, that I even knew he had aunts and uncles, and I had cousins, in the United States.
But I never forgot the boy in the picture. And it ate at me and ate at me and ate at me, until the day just before I headed off to college when I screwed up my courage and confronted my father.
I don’t remember asking anything about the circumstances of that first marriage — who she was, how it had ended. I only wanted to know about the boy.
His name, I was told, was Hugh Evan. He was five and a half years older than my older sister. And in the 1940s he had lived with his grandfather and his mother in Chicago.
My father didn’t have — or at least didn’t give me — an address than was less than 20 years old. He didn’t have a picture more recent than the one I had found. I can’t say that he actively discouraged me from trying to find my brother. But he didn’t go out of his way to help.
Now I’m not one of those people who started out in genealogy as a teenager. I was as green about trying to locate records as it was possible to be.
And I had exactly zero luck. Nobody by that name in the phone books. Nobody I could find in the driver’s license records or the draft records or any other kind of record I could think of — and had even a clue about how to access.
And months later, just about Thanksgiving, I was about to give up. I couldn’t think of anything else to try. I didn’t know there was such a thing as genealogy — or genealogy groups that might help.
But just before throwing in the towel, I decided to try one more thing.
I picked up the phone, called Chicago information, and asked for a telephone number for my brother’s grandfather at that more-than-20-year-old address.
And the operator gave it to me.
I remember being absolutely dumbfounded. It had never occurred to me that the family might have stayed in one spot, just waiting to be found.
It took a few days to get up my courage and to figure out what I wanted to say. Finally, right around the beginning of December, I called that number. An older man answered the phone. I asked for my brother by his full birth name and got 30 seconds of silence in response. Then the older man spoke.
“Who are you?” he asked. “And what do you want?”
How do you begin to condense years of wanting someone who’s missing from your life into a 30-second please-don’t-hang-up-on-me answer to questions like that?
I don’t remember what I said. I do remember the moment of silence after I finished my explanation.
Then the older man spoke again. He was my brother’s grandfather, he told me, Edward Anderson. And, I later found out, a retired Chicago police detective. He told me my brother was called Evan. He would not tell me where he was. But, he promised, if I sent a letter to his address, he would see to it that Evan got it.
It was as much as I could have hoped for under the circumstances. I thanked the man, and took a few more days to carefully write out what I wanted to say.
I probably mailed the letter around the fifth or sixth of December. It would have gotten there by perhaps the 10th or so. And Edward Anderson gave it to Evan right around December 15th.
And, on the 17th of December, Edward Anderson died.
I didn’t know about that death when Evan answered my letter early the next year. When he sent a photo that showed how much he resembles my older sister.
I didn’t know about it when we spoke for the first time on the phone and when we discovered that we both had learned to scuba dive and shared a love of certain books.
Or when we met for the first time and when I knew, for the first time, the joy of hugging and being hugged by the brother I had been missing from that day in that attic all those years ago.
But I have thought about it, time and again, in the years since I started doing family history, since the day when I first recorded the key facts of my brother’s mother’s family.
Since the day when it first dawned on me, just what a close thing it had been.
If I had waited just a few more days before getting that phone number.
If I had called a few days or weeks later.
If I had waited a week or two more before sending that letter.
If it had arrived just a few days later than it did.
If any of those things had happened, Edward Anderson wouldn’t have been able to give Evan my letter. And I don’t know if anyone else would have been as faithful as he was to his promise to make sure it got into Evan’s hands.
Oh, I believe, knowing what I know now about genealogy and research, that I would eventually have found Evan. Just the power of today’s internet would be enough now.
But we would never have had the years we have had. The times we have had. The fun we have had.
The sheer joy of knowing the boy in the picture.
The boy who celebrated his 70th birthday yesterday wrapped in the love of both sides of his family.
His wife. His children and, now, a grandson. His many relatives on his mother’s side.
His brothers, sisters, nieces and nephews on his father’s side, too.
And, I can’t help but think, smiling down on it all, a grandfather who kept his promise. And who gave me the gift of so much more time than I might otherwise have had with his grandson, my brother.
The boy in the picture.
Happy birthday, Evan.
Judy, this is beautiful.
Thanks, Rob. I am so very blessed to have Evan as my brother.
So beautifully written and shared and such a wonderful reminder of the value of not procrastinating what we do today. I’ve had several near misses with contacting the living and it’s always a good reminder of how fragile and unpredictable life is.
It is for sure, Michelle, and we all need to treach out and grab every opportunity we can.
Sounds like Edward Anderson had a mission and once completed he went home!
I can’t help but think of those words we all hope we may hear someday: “Well done, thou good and faithful servant.” I am so grateful he kept the faith here. It has made such a difference in my life.
Oh, Judy… tears of joy gathered in my eyes as I read this engaging story. You had me hooked from the beginning, and I loved the ending. May I use your poignant experience as an example to my students of why they shouldn’t ever EVER wait to follow-up on a lead? What a great morning read. xoxoxo
Go right ahead, Katherine. If it gets just one person to go ahead and do something, it’s worth it.
Wow Judy, that gave me chills (in a good way)! Thank you for sharing.
Thanks, Beverly. I’m so grateful for the chance to share this little piece of our story.
What a wonderful story! Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today!
Ain’t that the truth… just a short delay would have been sooooo bad.
This is a powerful story. Thank you for sharing. It gives me motivation to keep searching!
Thanks, Diane… and never ever give up searching.
I just love the way you tell a story! You have the audience hooked from the first line. Thank you for sharing.
Thanks for the kind words, Emma. This is one of those stories that kind of tells itself.
This brought tears to my eyes. I am so happy you got all the “extra” time! Such a beautiful, wonderful story. Timing is everything.
It sure is, Cheryl, and I am so very grateful for the extra time we’ve had.
Gave me goosebumps and brought tears to my eyes.
Thanks, Donna.
This is such a beautiful and touching post. so glad you found your brother. Thanks for your story.
Thanks for the kind words, Amy.
This is such a beautiful and touching post. so glad you found your brother. Thanks for sharing your story.
What a wonderful, heart-warming story. I was in tears as I read this…and I’ll tell you why.
It is so close to my very own tale of finding a brother that I knew existed but for many years did not know how to find. Unfortunately, my brother passed away the very month that I began to learn how to do genealogy. The happy part was finding his children and grandchildren, and connecting with them. I’ll be visiting them again in a couple of weeks in Scotland, where I was born. I also hope to have many more years to get to know MY father’s descendents.
I’m so sorry you didn’t have a chance to know your brother, Hilde, but what joy to know his children and grandchildren. Enjoy your visit!
Oh Judy, you’ve outdone yourself this time, and that’s hard to do. The penultimate story of serendipity in genealogy, and poignant but not soppy either. Fantastic. Now, for a future article, perhaps you can expand on those anatomy, er., photography books you mentioned….
Thanks, Craig — but no on the photo books.
Thank you for sharing. I was teary eyed by the end. So nice that he appreciated you finding him.
It’s quite a tribute to him, isn’t it? I mean, he went from being an only child to oldest of eight in one fell swoop!
Thank you for your story. I never knew my father or his family and a few years ago decided to search for him siblings and their children I now have abeautiful relationship with some first cousins that I found.
Glad you’ve found some family, Helen. It does, really, make a difference in ways that are hard to explain.
So beautifully written!
It really wrote itself, LaBrenda. Thanks.
Beautiful, Judy.
Thanks, Polly. He’s such a joy to have in my life.
Wonderful story thank you for sharing.
Thanks for the kind words.
What a lovely story that brought tears to my eyes, too. How wonderful that things worked out & you have had these years to share with your brother!
What a powerful & touching story.
I do not believe in coincidence. All of those perfectly timed events happened for a reason, just as they were supposed to.
Did your Father & Evan ever reunite?
Who would have thought your first genealogical quest would be one so profoundly important!
[looking forward to your upcoming engagement in Minnesota! I’m all registered]
Thanks for the kind word, Nicholas. My father and my brother did meet, and that’s their story, not mine to tell. But of course that relationship was complicated by the past. Mine with my brother didn’t carry the same baggage, and I hope has been as rewarding for Evan as it has surely been for me.
Relationships are complicated, even under normal circumstances. I’m glad Evan met up with his Father, I think the “unknown” weighs heavily on a person. I wasn’t expecting, or even interested in, the private details… I hope you didn’t think that’s what I was fishing for!
While unrelated to your story, my Great-Grandmother made life choices 70+ years ago that are still affecting her descendants today. While I’ve researched her for over 20 years & wrote this posting 2+ years ago, the story is as raw for us today. While I know you have plenty to read everyday, the story of her life as I know it, is here- http://thedeadrelativecollector.blogspot.com/2012/04/ruby-bruce-you-walked-away-from-your.html
And this family is why I have such a desire to learn about DNA.
You & Evan are both so lucky! Many families and genealogy stories tell a much different story! Treasure him always
That’s quite a story about Ruby… and oh yes how those decisions ripple down the generations!
Chills and tears overwhelm me – what a beautiful story with such a wonderful ending. You have a way of telling stories where the love just leaps off the page. Thank you for sharing Evan with us.
Thanks so much for the kind words, Debi!
Very nice, Judy! Thanks for sharing your touching story. I’m so glad you found Evan when you did.
Judy, Before I tuned into your warm & riveting story, I was first attracted to the actual photo of the mysterious little blonde boy: I once had a little blonde boy who grew into a wonderful man who daily enriches my life: Thanks for the happy reminder of a happy time… Because my specialty is in dating old family photos by the style clues revealed in the clothes, I immediately recognized that the neat little suit your brother was wearing & his careful haircut was typical of those worn by well behaved little fellows of the mid 1930s-1940s…then your words beguiled me to follow the interesting story through to the rewarding ending.Thank you for sharing! Best, Betty Kreisel Shubert, Costume Designer/Fashion Historian/ Author-Illustrator of the book, OUT-OF-SYLE (see www. OutOfStyleTheBook.com)
Thanks for the kind words.
Thanks for the good cry Judy! What a beautiful, wonderful story. You are truly blessed!
Thanks, Suzanne. I couldn’t agree with you more.
What an amazing story, Judy. It makes me stop and think about what I’m putting off that I really should be doing now, while I have the chance. So glad you found your brother in time to share many happy years. Best wishes for many more!
The warning to “seize the day!” sure hits home…
A terrific story. I’ve featured this post in “Recommended Reads” today on http://www.emptybranchesonthefamilytree.com.
Thanks for the kind words.
Judy,
I want to let you know that your wonderful blog post is listed in today’s Fab Finds post at http://janasgenealogyandfamilyhistory.blogspot.com/2014/10/follow-friday-fab-finds-for-october-3.html
Have a great weekend!
Thanks so much, Jana!
Did you ever find out why you hadn’t known about him or why your dad and he didn’t get together?
I gather skipping out on child support was part of the equation. Sigh.
Judy, Loved this story! I’ve re-read it several times since you first published it giving that it so closely resembles a journey for me. When I was in my twenties, I found out that I had a brother 1-1/2 younger than I that was given up for adoption. I immediately set out to find him. I had an approximate date of birth and went to the court house to look through birth certificates. I was convinced that the “baby boy” born on a certain date to parents living hundreds of miles away was my brother. Fast forward many years before I actually contacted him. I never really knew why I didn’t continue on my quest but years later I took the information I had discovered and found my brother. My brother and I have talked about this many times and decided that the timing was perfect for all involved. After you posted this article I forwarded it to my brother. This is part of his response.
“Thanks so much for the story. As I read it, I could just imagine how you went about your search to find yours truly. It really is a joyous time, when all things fit perfectly, to find that mysterious person. I know I will never forget how I felt, where I was and the almost disbelief that you had contacted me. Certainly, I had thought about it for years. I am so thankful for all the hard work you did, to unite us. You are so amazing.”
SO glad you also found your brother, Trudy. They are a joy in our lives, aren’t they?
Wiping tears…
I just read this again, and I still love it.
Aw… thanks. He’s such a special guy, my brother… and I am so grateful to his grandfather.
I clicked on the link to this post when I read your post about the death of Evan’s mother. I’m glad I did.