I’ve written before about my wonderfully ethnic family - French Catholics, DAR Protestants, Russian Jewish refugees, plus a smattering of Northern European famine flee-ers, all yearning to breathe free.
Actually, to be accurate, the French contingent were
more yearning to breathe rich. Already a
well-regarded textile expert in France, my great-grandfather was recruited to
come to the U.S. Northeast in 1901 to manage a woolen mill which he ultimately
ended up owning; numerous expansions later, the mill became the largest tax
payer in the state. Great-gramps was also an avid photographer, not exactly a
common or easy hobby in an era when Photomats were in short supply. It was strictly a do-it-yourself
operation. Unlike the firing-squad poses popular in the
day, his photos are particularly delightful candids of the family (and dogs) in
their daily activities – romping around the lawn, digging out of the Snowstorm
of Aught One, celebrating birthdays, and proudly posing with their new Chalmers
Motor Car. You really get a sense from these pictures that you know these
people – a wonderful gift for their descendants.
Besides his wife and young son, great-gramps had
also brought over his much younger (and frankly better looking) brother,
Eugène, who up until 1906 had been in a preponderance of the photos but
mysteriously disappears that year never to be seen again. My father never knew why, only that there had
been a huge falling out between the two brothers, so much so that the descendants
of great-gramps and Eugène never interacted again. In fact, a half century later, Dad happened
to find himself at a Philadelphia hotel with a fellow business traveler who had
the family’s highly unusual name.
Knocking on this man’s door, he was met with a face eerily similar to
his own – and a huge deep freeze.
Eugène, I noted in the photos, obviously enjoyed a
congenial relationship with great-grandma; the two are usually laughing, even
touching. Photos of great-grandpa and great-grandma not so much. Studying the pictures more closely a few
years ago, I had a eureka moment, sure I had solved this 100-year-old family
feud: Eugène was getting it on with
great-grandma, and great-grandpa found out.
(I should have been a romance writer.)
Fortuitously, in 2009, I came into ownership of
dozens more of my great-grandfather’s photos which had languished in an elderly
relative’s basement for more than half a century. While a few were of the long-ago family, most
were stunning photos great-gramps had taken documenting the mill and the mill
workers themselves. I thought I had died
and gone to heaven. Deciding that these
truly historical pictures deserved a wider audience, I was able to find an
appropriate historical web site which was thrilled to post them, and even
contacted the local paper in the town where the mill had been located to see if
current residents there might still be able to identify anyone – managers or
mill workers – in the photos more than 100 years later. The paper wrote a
story, posted sample photos and a link to the website, and included my email
address.
I ended up hearing from plenty of people, none of
whom, alas, could identify any ancestors in the photos, but chief among my new
correspondents were descendants of the long-vanished Eugène. And oui,
they knew about the long-ago feud, and just to be clear, they hadn’t forgotten.
Oy.
Several sources informed me that in that era, the
mill owners and managers were all French but all (and I mean all) the mill
workers were French Canadians. And the
two classes absolutely never mixed,
socially or by marriage. But Eugène,
following his heart, scandalized everyone by marrying a French Canadian mill
worker, prompting great-gramps to permanently disown him. It would have been, as one correspondent presciently
pointed out in 2009 (pre-Downton Abbey) “like having your daughter marry the
chauffeur – completely unacceptable.” When Eugène’s wife died of childbirth
complications after their second child, he allegedly asked great-gramps for
“help” (financial? babysitting? unclear) and got a resounding no. So to really stick it to his brother and local society, Eugène then married
the dead wife’s sister (also a miller worker) and had three more children. It
did not improve relations.
So I think the mystery is solved, at long last, at
least from our end. (Sounds like other side
never thought it was a mystery at all.) My
romantic’s heart would prefer to be associated with Eugène’s saga instead of
great-grandpa’s but things were what they were in the early 1900’s.
But could we, like, get over it?
(For the record, I’m STILL suspicious about Eugène
and great-gram.) 
Eugène and great-grandma (smiling, hard to see in this size photo), in front
of the house after the Big Storm of 1901
Great-grandma and great-grandpa, same storm
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