A surprise book

 A long time ago, I read a draft copy of my grandfather's memoirs. 

This was my paternal grandfather - born in Chicago in 1895, lost his father young, apparently lived in a kind of genteel poverty for years, attended Catholic schools all through, at one point wanted to become a Jesuit priest. 

And then at some point, he joined the Army Air Corps, and traveled around (spending some time near Dallas, at what is now Love Field) learning to fly as an experimental pilot. He was in a crash (that apparently led to abdominal injuries he suffered pain from for the rest of his life - something I did not know, but then I only remember him from when I was a small child; he died when I was about 8). 

One of the things I remember from my reading of the earlier version - he was going to New York to get his orders to embark for Europe in fall 1918, and by chance* he arrived in New York on November 11, 1918.

Which of course meant he missed the war but didn't miss the parties.

(*I suppose that could have been a bit of embroidery, but I want to believe it's true that he was on the train going through Syracuse at 5:30 am and was awakened by people at the station shouting and cheering; apparently the news had come through? I"m not sure how, that would have been only a half hour after it was officially signed and I'm not sure there was even transatlantic radio back then. Then again, apparently it made the November 11, 1918, New York Times). 

But anyway. I had always meant to have the manuscript (computer printed) version bound so I'd have it permanently. But I never did.

Then, a few days ago I noticed in my Informed Delivery I had a "bound, printed matter" package coming from Traverse City. My uncle lives there. And I briefly hoped - maybe he got actual bound copies made and is sending me one? But then I thought - no, he also handles the stock account I inherited, it's probably some dumb prospectus that I won't read until he calls me to see if I want to invest in whatever it is or not, and getting it will be a disappointment.

The package arrived today:

Nope, not a prospectus! A real book!

I was delighted when I opened it: it's not merely a spiral or comb bound copy of the memoirs, but a real bound book with photographs and everything:

My uncle edited it. It looks like he's added in some more information from the later memoirs my grandfather kept not too long before his death where he filled in other memories. And there are photographs, including one of my grandfather where I can now see a little of the resemblance between him and my dad. (Though secretly? I think my grandfather as I knew him looked more like Carroll O'Connor than anyone in my family)

It'll be interesting to read it again. (I looked up the part about him arriving in New York City to verify what I had sort of remembered about him arriving on Armistice Day). My uncle included a short afterword where he noted that my grandfather kept the journals in part as a sort of self-therapy - he self-described as having "The Irish Melancholy*" and apparently was prone to bouts of something like depression.

(Huh. Perhaps I am more like my grandfather than I thought before. I have the book-mania that he had - it was said of him "Cy will wear the same threadbare coat but spend his money on new books" and yes, I feel that. But also, I have had black moods through out my life - worse, they seem now, in the immediate pandemic/losing lots of people important to me era. Perhaps I need to journal more, and in a more private format so I don't censor myself?)

(*He made a very big deal out of his Irish heritage. I guess it was very important to him. It is less so to me, and also, I don't tend to believe in that sort of what you might call "cultural determinism" - the idea, for example, that the Irish are somehow constitutionally melancholy. I could see me going "yes I see I am prone to bouts of melancholy as it seemed to run in my family" but that's different; there's a possible genetic explanation for that).

There is a bit of detail from the early 1920s - after his mother died, when he was out in the working world after being released from the Air Corps - but I can see no mention of the flu epidemic. Perhaps he remained untouched by it? It seems unlikely as he lived in Chicago.  More likely, he buried the memories of it as a lot of people seem to have. (And I admit, my own pandemic experiences - some days I forget about them, then something happens - someone coughs in my vicinity, or there's a shortage at the grocery, or I need to put a mask on somewhere - and they come back)

My uncle signed my copy for me:

I'll probably read my way through it soon.