Harrison
By john W. Vander Velden
As I drove past the rubble remains of a house trailer, my mind returned to Harrison.
It was where the man lived when I came to this neighborhood in
1972. I can’t say I really knew the man
that shared my grandfather’s birthday.
But I guess I didn’t know my grandparents well either. Distance and time, barriers that were never
crossed, left my parent’s parents only the subjects of stories, made real by
those they had raised. But I had met
Harrison…briefly. And the stories about
him gave flesh to the silhouette of a man I saw move about his yard. Before he came to Marshall County he had been
the chef at the Grand Hotel on Mackinaw Island.
Surely the man had countless stories of those years, but I heard
none. One of his sons lived in the
trailer right next door. Bill and his
boys started a business and kept an eye on Harrison. August 15th, 1890, was the day the
two men lives began. Now almost 132 years later little more than memories remain…and for me only brief glimpses of
their incredible lives. But with the
disappearance of that old rotting tin box, will any give a thought to
Harrison? I wonder. I have no idea where his descendants
migrated. Bill passed years ago. His daughter moved into that other trailer and
left in the mid eighties. The property
sold and the trailers rented, time has been harsh on the structures. Bill’s trailer replaced with another and now
the last earthly reminder of his father is being dismantled and hauled away as
scrap.
But this post isn’t about
Harrison, or my grandfather, or Frank either.
I met Frank in the early sixties. He was 96. Frank came to visit the farm where his
fortunes began. I do mean fortunes. He had amassed a financial empire,
businesses, hotels in major cities. By
the late sixties and early seventies his high rise hotels in Miami and Chicago
were torn down. Now when you google
Frank Morrison…zilch. At least about
that Frank Morrison. The family sold the
farm where it all began a few years ago.
They were too disconnected, I was told.
Disconnected from the land…I fear they were also disconnected from the
man.
Thinking of Harrison and the
others, I consider legacy. What is it
these men have left behind? What mark
did they make…really? I’m sure the rubble
strewn craters of the Morrison Hotels have found other uses. They were after all prime real estate. But the years have washed away the
memory. Legacy. If we tie our whole being to some thing,
grand or not, time will erase all traces.
That is unless we build some magnificent pyramid of granite, like those in
Egypt.
So what should our legacy
be? How do we leave something that
matters? And should we care? Whether we care or not is for each of us to
decide. But if we do care…then
what? The men of my father’s family each
named a son after their father. It seems
that Gerard Vander Velden left a mark.
That is a legacy I believe I should take pride in. As for me, I have no idea what scratch I will
make on this world. And no idea if that
small mark will be remember in my passing.
I carry no pride in that regard. Best I live my life to the best of my
abilities…Help others when I can…Be fair in all my dealings…Love my family and
friends…Be true to GOD…and trust that my life will have mattered. And if it does…that will be legacy enough…
(608 Words) 7-20-2016 (Updated 7-8-2022)
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