Archive for April, 2011

Hello Clara and Charles

Hi Clara, Hi Charles. Has it been awhile since someone has visited?

Just checking in. How is the weather up there? We are starting to warm up a bit.
With the information you gave me on the family tree, I went to visit Charles today.
As it turns out, the cemetery that he is buried in is only 8 miles from where I am living with
my girlfriend. I went into the office and he told me that Clara and Charles were buried in separate lots.

I spent one hour searching for the wrong grave. There were Hartmanns buried there but not Charles.
I was very disappointed and the cemetery was gonna close in one hour. So, I went after Clara.
Very tough to find only because their numbering system is so complicated and I was given no map in the office.

When I found Clara’s grave, it was just as I had thought. Charles was right there with her.
I have got to tell you, I was deeply moved. I imagine it has been many years since anyone has visited them.
So I spoke out loud and told them that their memory still lives…even in the minds of people that have never met them.

I have attached a photo for you.

Just some quick questions….

According to the web tree … an uncle that I knew, my fathers brother, William Hartman, is still alive.
He was very distant from us. He had polio as a child and the last time I saw him was 1975 at Disneyland.
Is there anyway to find out if he is still alive?
Because he may be still alive, his name isn’t listed.
Is there an “administrator” to the web tree?? Might that be you?
Just wondering. Now that I have found you, maybe some things have changed.
Do you think that my grandfathers real name is what is listed?? I knew him as George Joseph Hartman.

I am planning on sharing your wonderful photos with my family through the family web site at the beginning of April.

It is so strange that Charles and Clara were only eight miles away from me this whole time.
I think that Clara was a very beautiful woman. The fact that there was only one blue-eyed child is kinda strange.

Have you ever wandered into the states???

Full of curiosity and kind regards

Comments (3)

beneath the neon glow (Diary of a sex addict)

Late one rainy Spring night in a hotel, Midtown Manhattan New York City. A dark room with one single candle on a night table next to the bed. The performers cannot be seen, only heard apparently from a pile of pillows and blankets on the bed. A window next to the bed is covered with rain. The reflections of a neon light occasionally flickering on and off splashes red and blue lights on the bed.

Butch: (yawning) are you still cold?
Coco: Mmmmmm mmmmm
Butch: What about you?
Coco: Mmmmmm??
Butch: What about you?
Coco: I’m really tired….mmmmm… tired. My clients were so demanding today. My Mac is acting up. The photo shoot was horrible. My package design was outright rejected.
Butch: What about you?
Coco: Oh, I don’t know. Maybe when I was like six or seven my father used to make me take showers with him. He never touched me but even then, I knew it wasn’t right. I mean shit, at that height it was the only thing I saw. I remember eating breakfast in the dark because we never paid the electric bill and my mom had arranged to have an extension cord come through the window from our neighbors house. She would use the cord to make the coffee first and then the toast. It snowed a lot when I was a kid. One time I went outside in my snow suite and it was so cold that I was pounding on the door to get in after only five minuets. I don’t know what they were doing in there but it seemed like, maybe it was an hour or two before it opened again. I got sick and my mother hide the frost bite by not letting me go to school for a week. One day when I was around ten, a man pulled up next to me in his car to ask for directions to the library. I knew where the library was because I went there all the time. I loved to read books about design, color and architecture, even at that age. I used to go to the library to hide from life. The bullies at school were starting to get physical, pushing me into my locker and laughing. I was so scared I can’t even tell you. Well anyway, halfway through my directions to the library, I realized that the man in the car had no pants or underwear on. I was so stupid, I just finished the directions and walked away. It was the third penis I had ever seen. That is if you count brothers. I used to change my younger brothers diaper. I remember running through snow covered hills and making sleds outta cardboard until my friend Bobby got hurt one day. His sled went off the trail, it was too icy and he hit a tree head-on. An ambulance had to come and we only saw Bobby two times after that, looking out of his bedroom window waving at us. They say he became retarded after he hit that big fat oak tree with his head and we never went sledding again. I found myself going to the library more and more to read and sit in a corner sometimes until it closed and they chased me out. I loved learning and discovering what made things work. I stole my mothers Polaroid camera, well, she never used it anyway and took pictures of everything, I mean everything. The film wasn’t expensive because I stole that too, until I got caught by Mr. Jeffries at the five and ten and he took me in the back room and said he was gonna spank me, and that maybe I might have to pull up my dress. When I told him I knew he was just trying to look at my vagina, his eyes almost popped out of his head, he gave me the rest of his Polaroid film which was seven packs…enough for fifty photos and ten dollars if I promised not to steal anymore which I agreed to but I had my fingers crossed behind my back. I loved taking photos with that camera it became an extension of me. I started to experiment and paint and write on the film before it had a chance to dry. Then I started cutting things out of newspapers and pasting them on cardboard that I found behind Mr. Jeffries store. I had a big box of art and supplies that I had to hide from everyone because I know they wouldn’t like it or my mom would certainly throw it away. My bigger pieces I put in the garage behind the broken washing machine. I started to really like making things from nothing. I was addicted to it. The first time a man put his thing inside me I became addicted to that too. I think I was seventeen. In the corner of my garage on an old army blanket right in front of the broken washing machine that hid some of my artwork. I wanted to go to college and keep on learning but it was never mentioned by my parents in my senior year. My dad said that Mr. Jeffries had a “Help Wanted” sign on the front of his store window. I went up to my room and cried. I dreamed of collage that night. I was walking down the hall and there were no bullies. The walls were filled with art, the windows were big and there were oak trees and a valley. The teachers were all nice and helpful. I had long black hair and black eyes. I wore dresses of yellow and orange covered with tulips and bees. But then my dreams slowly evaporated. I became obsessed with something else. I had reached a turning point in my life with no more school. I was on the verge of the deepest most darkest days of my life.
Butch: Really?


waiting for Big Moon

It was BIG alright!

When I woke up Kryha said “Those poor Japanese people” and here it was eight or so days later and we are still captivated by the news. But when it is the first thing you say when you wake up then you know it was such an intense, earth moving event that you become consumed by it….well at least I was. It is the opposite – “does – G(g)od – really – exist” – thought. What I mean by that is this: “Why them?” Aren’t the Japs supposed to humble, quiet and clean? Free of crime? Spiritual?” If G(g)od really does exist then why would he wallop them with the triple-header? Tonight was the biggest moon in eighteen years. I thought of Richard and Clara. How close their dead bodies were. How I wanted to be by them. I imagined laying down on the grass spread out. Reaching for their bones. Reaching for the life that they lived. The Trolly cars, the horse shit on main street. Chicken dinner with the Hartmann’s The woman with the beautiful big brown eyes, mother of fifteen children. Burying two little infants (I will find them one day too!) and what about all the heartache, that they experienced? It all means nothing now. They had the world on their shoulders and now they are buried in it. This hustling-bustling time bomb of a planet. I would see Joshua and Jonathan tomorrow, BUT today, a day before the Big Moon, I would visit Richard and Clara. Swiftly through the sky blue windy day. (one day before Big Moon. In German dreams and tongue, I travel through time on slow moving elephants. Into the sands of time, the hourglass of past memories, into the streets of Jersey City.
Only In America can you come home from such a busy day and pop some popcorn in the microwave oven, sit down and watch a war, live on television, and then they cut over to a nuclear disaster (they are finding trace amounts of radiation in Seattle Washington) There are people over there that have been buried underneath the rubble for a week and they are uncovering them alive. If you want to know what it is like to get swept away by a tsunami, then you should watch the first ten minuets of Clint Eastwoods (directed by) movie, The Hereafter Although, it is nothing like the first ten minuets of “Saving Private Ryan” it has the same effect. It blows your mind!

In March 2011’s photo’s I only now just noted that there is one thing similar to all the photos for that month. I took every single photo. Do you think I will ever run out of photos that make you think? Maybe when all the photos are grabbed off my laptop it may mean only three things: 1. I have run out of photos and I am desperate. 2. I am just a lazy bastard and didn’t have time to scan, clean and color correct. OR 3. I am still waiting for help from the family in the form of emails and/or snail mail scans.
In Feb 2011 photos that make you think there is a photo of one of the scariest moments in my life. In the Summer of 1975 I was sent to California to visit the Jones’. The Jones’ were our nephews and niece from our fathers side of the family. Our father had a sister named Geraldine. She married Robert “Jay” Jones. They had three children: Robert, (Jaybird) Diane and Dennis. We used to be very close with them as children (for those very few of us who can remember) Jay Jones was a professional soilder and “worked” as a soilder in south Jersey. Dad used to take us down there alot. His sister Geraldine, was a shrieking manic-depressant that yelled and cried a lot. She was a very good woman, though. She also had another child, much older than the others named David, I think out of wedlock that eventually became some kind of manager for Dads fabric store in Westfield.

"Jaybird" Jones poses with me pool-side July 1975. He reeked of reefer and mistrust.

In my Summer trip to California I met all the Jones’ for what would probably be the last time in my life. My aunt Geraldine loved to take photos but she was lousy at it.
I hated being there in California that Summer. I was told it would only be “a week or two” but it turned into the whole Summer. I wil never forget that lie. Mom drove me to Newark airport very drunk and late. The plane ride was my first and it was amazing to me. To look down at the clouds, toy cars and toy cities it is only then that you realize just how bug The United States of America is!! (2,825 miles)
I wanted to be home. Summers were magical back then. The side-street gang may have been fading, Bill Brunner may have moved away for all eternity but there was no school, no work and long hot days. Mc, Gitts, Beds, and the others were all playing baseball, football and hunting for unexploded fireworks on the streets July 5th.
In this photo Jaybird had me! His arm around my neck. Aunt Gerry ready to snap a photo and I just knew he was gonna throw me in the pool and the sound of “cheese”.
I was a very awkward fifteen year old boy. I was as skinny as a stick. I had a uncontrollable mop of yellow hair, pimples all over, I had two huge front teeth that were chipped (I didn’t smile for 18 years until I had them fixed myself) I was lost without my father, my mother was always drunk, I had zero self-confidence, I had just completed my freshman year in an all-boys Catholic High School that was an absolute nightmare, I didn’t know what was going on inside my body or outside my body. My penis had become an uncontrollable monster connected to me like an evil twin. I was confused, very lonely, young, dumb and full of ……
Jaybird never threw me in the pool but now thirty-six years later I am looking for him. On Facebook. In people searches, obituaries, web browses… I have been trying to find this part of our family for as long as the internet has been around. The biggest obstacle that I have faced is their last name: JONES. (this is the third most common name in the United States behind Brown and Williams)
The “TAG” words in this blog, I have discovered are VERY powerful. They are openly exposed (and very quickly I might add) to search engines all over. I have randomly added our cousins the Jones’ to many of the blog posts in the hopes that maybe one day they may “google” themselves and find us. So far nothing. No sign of any Jones’ anywhere. Come out, come out, where ever you are!
Why America is so Damn Fat getting fatter.
It all began about eight or nine years ago when fast food establishments ended their CASH ONLY policy and started accepting credit cards. WORSE THAN THAT, they suddenly started their “We are open LATE” routine. Not just until midnight but two or three o’clock in the morning. Have you ever driven past the drive thru of a McDonalds at ONE AM in the morning and seen seven or eight cars waiting for deep fried fat and hamburger meat on a sesame seed bun?? Is it dinner time? NO! It’s let’s have ANOTHER fat drenched meal before bedtime!!!
WHY do we CARRY ON like nothing happened?
Am I the only one that still feels a sense of dread and doom over the loss of 15,000 human beings and counting in Japan?? That there is STILL a NUCLEAR TIME BOMB on the edge of the ocean some where in the world. Life still goes on. We work. We go to school. We play. We turn on the news and Japan isn’t the headlines anymore, sometimes not even the second page. Mothers are still driving their cars, loaded with their young innocent children into lakes. People are still getting blown-up beyond recognition in third world countries, the economy is still sinking like a Western sunset into the sea…people are still killing people, with guns, their cars, bats, knives and poison. Life goes on.
Father Doesn’t Leave Family
Women Completes Rehab rejoins family to tears and hugs
Family Buys A Home
Man Donates HALF his Savings to Charity
Woman Opens Door For Crippled Woman at WalMart