Jaybird, Gerry and Las Vegas

Aunt Gerry

They say there is one in every family. That is, one whose passion for uncovering the secrets of their heritage leads to hours of research, pursuing small leads, and if fortunate enough to hit the family historians jackpot–discovering ancestral photographs….but in this case also MOVIES!!
Now the first time I had called Jaybird (I will call him Robert) we had a lengthy discussion about everything. How do you fill in the gaps of FORTY YEARS??? You don’t. You can’t. You need a pot of coffee and a table. So hopefully this meeting will happen soon. In the next few weeks or so.
Keep Aunt Gerry in your prayers as her health has been fragile lately. Gerry is a survivor, though, she has out-lived all the adult legends so far. And what we once thought that our sister Barbara was the exsisting elder, Aunt Gerry has taken the lead.
When I called them, ironically, Jaybird (I will call him Robert) Gerry and Las Vegas were watching some HOME MOVIES that Mr. Jones (Gerrys husband, our uncle, Jaybirds {I will call him Robert} father) had made. That to me is just too incredible to even comprehend!! As we were speaking on the phone, Jaybird (I will call him Robert) was giving me the play by play of the home movies.
In the last few months I have had dreams with my Dad in them. These dreams were so real and so surreal to see my father actually “MOVING”….it sounds strange but I haven’t seen him walk or talk or MOVE in forty years…so it will be quite an experience to see these movies. I hope and pray that I have this opportunity. I hope that there may be a way to preserve them, digitalize them somehow, someway.

view from my lap


I have been trying to understand my desire to find people. My curiosity increases with every little dig. I have been rightfully accused of “living in the past” Like this: Get on with it. Why do you care? The future is now. I realize that I am not really sure who I am. I have no roots. I need, want my own doorway to walk into. (after all you have to start somewhere) What is so wrong about heritage research??
If all you got to live for is what you left behind,
Get yourself a powder charge and seal that silver mine.
Lost my boots in transit, baby, pile of smokin’ leather.
I nailed a retread to my feet and prayed for better weather.

-Robert Hunter
Yeah, I’m on my way.
Healing comes in strange disguises and in most cases the greatest disguise is a LONG WAIT. So time heals all wounds, I stray from the spirit yet I am not far from the essence. I am constantly being tested. It is so easy to HATE someone. Catch yourself before you become immersed in hatred and see what you can do to turn it around—–
BOOKSTORE BLUES
I am greatly inspired by books and magazines. I could sit on the floor in Barnes and Noble all day flipping through pages. I don’t consider myself a theif…just an inspired fisherman.
That is all for now.
NEXT WEEK: The Jones Gang

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A Night at the Circus

Route 76, Somewhere in Pennsylvania, daybreak.


Let’s walk into the dark fields of uncut grass. Into the heart of America, the midwest laughter and red white and blue explosions in the sky. Feeling the immediate sowing of a yellow hook moon in my heart. Another journal into the depths of space. The ending of the pain from my headaches….( a blood pressure concern)
I’m in the wrong century again, damn it! I miss the sepia skies and the angles singing. The black and white streets, crowds of busy people and the gaslights glow.

Dark pub and a lost soul from the future.

This is where I met him many years ago. A disco in the seventies. The drinking age was still eighteen. We were deadheads drinking shots, dressed like slobs and making fun of the music. The women were beautiful with big hair and attitudes. Annoyed at the hippies laughing in the dark corner. I had too much, as usual and it always seemed to hit me earlier then the other guys. I was never meant to be a drinker. I threw up all the time and I had diarrhea. Other guys could just drink, pound them down and play quarters for 24 hours straight and get up and walk a straight line home. (at the moment I am writing this, I am experiencing a severe case of Déjà vu) Now this crazy looking guy from across the bar is staring at me and I feel a vomit coming on so I ease over towards the bathroom and this guy is suddenly waiting there. I ignore him as I feel for the mens room in this dark hallway….I mean really dark….”Hey listen…..hey…hey George.”
So who the fuck is that and how do they know my name. The room is spinning. The music is thumping “Funky Town” by Lipps I think, I could almost taste the vomit…”Hey George” he giggles. He is right next to me. Suddenly I feel better. I feel better than better. I feel great. I am sober, I think. This guy is staring at me in the dark with this big smile.
“Hey George” he half whispers.. “I know you. I’m from the future.”

It's not easy being green

This really happened to me. A disco in 1979. A strange dude that told me about cell phones, 9/11, the Giants winning a Super Bowl in seven years, financial hardships, computers taking over, marriage, divorce, winning the lottery, drugs, drinking, sex, death, miracle cures, war, typhoons, tornados, tsunami’s, torture…
Hey you freak what are you saying. What are you putting in my mind. What the fuck is a cell phone? What kind of crazy pants are you wearing….disco boy….fag….leave me alone. Oh my head hurts from you. Get out of my life. Get out of my mind!!! Now forever making cameo appearances in my freaking dreams. Do you believe me?

409 Downing Street Westfield New Jersey


Dad’s Root beer
Our dads home when he was growing up. His teen age years. Meeting mom. Having dinner with Geraldine his sister and William his brother. His mom and “Pop” sitting in the living room waiting for him to go through that front door again and join the marine’s….or get married….or help Pop out at the store on East Broad street….not too far away. Westfield was a different place then, but it hasn’t changed much since. The biggest disappointment most recently is that they tore down “The Leader Store” They still have real live cops directing traffic during peak hours. The Westfield Sewing Center, our Grandfathers and then our dads place of business is long gone. People don’t sew their own dresses, curtains or make crafts anymore. Everyone is too busy on the cell phone or watching reality TV on the tube. We are all in front of mini-monitors, TV, computer or phone…taking commands and giving them. One of the things my dad passed on to me was growing tomatoes. It is an art to grow them…actually an easy art. Tomatoes are very hardy plants and even a seed from a tomato on a sandwich can fall in the crack of the sidewalk and if you let it grow, YOU WILL harvest a tomato or two. The weather here has been absolutely gorgeous. It has been the Summer of dreams….long days, hot skies, cold oceans, simmering spaghetti sauce, ribs and tomato plants wilting in the endless ninety degree days.
There are few gifts greater than offering your friend your home to stay. The other night we lay by the windowsill telling stories of our days, current and past. The Summer had been so hot, we were worried about the flowers. But as the darkness grew in the fading day a cool breeze had reached on the window sill. A small rumble of thunder. A flash of lightening and finally ……..rain. We listened, watched and talked. I am very grateful for that moment of time. To be protected from the storm but to be so close to it. To be able to listen to someone and have someone listen to me. To be able to smell the rain. To be able to call something “home” is a great gift. To have the blessings to share a meal with the one you love. To sit on the back deck and watch the day slowly turn into night. The candle on the wooden table splashes yellow puddles on your face. These are the moments of that you live for. The quiet unnoticed ones. I wouldn’t have them if it wasn’t for you. Thank you.

A night at the circus


A moment of time forever etched digitally on a blog deep in space. Perhaps not for eternity but it is there only because I thought it was worth digging in my pocket for my camera. We were cutting through some woods towards a wooden roller coaster. The yellow spot lights giving off an eire glow. Party balloons abandoned. My kids way ahead of me because I was keeping company with my stupid camera. Somewhere in south Ohio, July 4, 2011, the United States of America. Earth.

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Tag -you’re it.

“i will never forget watching the beatles on sullivan at 121 whitman with my cousins, barbra, beverly, george and gregory. laughing and throwing couch pillows at the screen while my older brother david ( who was sitting us while mom dad uncle george and aunt joni went out) tried hard too watch and hear the fabs. some of my fondest memories are of my cousins. i have all the family snapshots and homemovies and hope to reconnect soon.”
Robert “Jaybird” Jones

This was written 6 days ago on a two year old post on this blog.
What I have discovered in the depths of the World Wide Web is that it is getting more and more powerful and contrary to what I had originally thought: that it is getting impossible to unbury your past because of the complexity of the endless layers.
The above comment to a post I had written two years ago was typed while I was on vacation. It’s the real deal. The shivers that went up my spine haven’t been felt since the Giants Super Bowl win four years ago.
I have been trying to find our long lost cousins for YEARS. Googling names and places: “Jones” and “Sacramento, California” I got nowhere. So I tried Facebook. Even less success. I think the real problem was the name Jones….a pretty common name in the USA.
So my plan was to hope one day that they would try to find us.
Word Press -the free blog service that powers this family blog is AMAZINGLY powerful in submitting “TAG” words to search engines. Tag words are what I include on a blog post that can be “found” by other people searching on the internet.
So, I smothered a few of my blog posts with “Jaybird Jones” and other key words that I hoped someone would search for. People have been known to goggle their own name…..so now I can only fish and wait….
Fishing. Trolling. Waiting. Hoping. Maybe one day. A nibble? NO, this is a big bite. Maybe even a little tease. If you can come back and read this Robert “Jaybird” Jones, please call me. Are you still in California? Where is Diane and Dennis? I miss your mom and dad, they were great people on this crazy planet. Come out of the water and show yourself!!! Call me if you can my long lost cousin: 908-456-2906.

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lost weekend

I owe you another kiss....

After the twisted storm had passed, the tornadoes papers flying out of the grasps of the harmless clouds. The banners hanging black unswayed and unnoticed … and very alone. “We tried…” someone whispered from the bricks. It was true. Effort wasn’t the villain, sweat flew with it’s hero cape across the expansive lobby. The smiles from the purpose were beaming halfway across the dark gray sky above the swamp.
I opened the skyline (Manhattan) with a crooked can-opener on a dreary Monday morning…driving faster….faster….beyond all signs of rescue.
We owe you another kiss on the fields of the great unknowns. You were unromantic yet sexy, in your black dress with yellow trim. We followed you off a cliff of paper money. Under dark chandeliers in theaters. That small space between the curtain where you peek out. It is clear you, and everyone in the audience can not stay here, but yet, I love you.

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Hello Clara and Charles

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

Hi
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
George

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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…..so 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?

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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!

PHOTOS THAT MAKE YOU THINK
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.
WHERE IS THE HAPPY NEWS?
HEADLINES:
Father Doesn’t Leave Family
or
Women Completes Rehab rejoins family to tears and hugs
or
Family Buys A Home
or
Man Donates HALF his Savings to Charity
or
Woman Opens Door For Crippled Woman at WalMart

Posted in cousins, Jones, Krystina, Photos That Make You Think, Self Portrait, Tall Tales, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , | 134 Comments

Coffee with Bill

Memory is such a strange and elusive thing. It is much more than mere knowledge, awareness, or the impressions that a person retains – be it a person, an event, a period, or subject. Memory is a celebration of those experiences. It is the realization of our past, our history, our whole life.

Bill Brunner was one of my closest friends growing up. He lived conveniently just around the corner and we were the same age we had the same toys, the same interests and quite possibly the same dreams. Bill was more than a bunch of great memories, Bill was my early childhood. Going to school together, watching TV, sports, playing games for hours. We got into everything and anything. Chemistry, geology, astronomy , swimming, racing, bikes, football, baseball the list is endless. He was the punter, running back, lineman of our football team. The only football team with real uniforms and painted helmets. Sidestreet baseball home-run hitter. Engineer of some incredibly swift paper planes. Hot wheels racer enthusiast. Tough competitor and all around typical American kid from around the block.

We threw back coffees in our little meeting spot, up there in the north west corner of New Jersey – a Pannora Bread – late one freezing week night. In my estimation, we had to fill in the gap of at least THIRTY-FIVE YEARS!

After thirty-five years, best friends find each other on the Internet.


Bill has been married over twenty years and is currently raising two preteens and we all know that is more than a full time job. If you want to reconnect with him like some of our family has already done, you can find him as one of my friends on Facebook.
Bill hasn’t changed much, except of corse in only the wiseness that life slowly unwraps for you as you become a husband, a father and a person. He was very genuine, kind and funny.

The thing that I always enjoy when I frolic in the past with old friends or family is that their memory always has a lot more than you could have ever remembered. I thought I knew it all. I thought I remembered it all. Bill kept bringing up times and memories that I thought I had long forgotten! There are so many events that connect together in your childhood, that it is impossible to keep them all.

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a MAJOR heritage Hartman BREAKthru

In my on and off extensive search for our heritage I have found out some very cool and very important information. Only because of our sister Barbs brave dig into our great aunts sisterhood on Menham NJ, (a letter mailed about 4 years ago) was I able to obtain the complete list of our Grandpa’s 12 brothers and sisters. With this information, I may have contact with someone who has access to even more information and even more exciting some photos of our great grandparents and their 12 children.
We already knew there were 13 children and that one had died in infancy but now it has been uncovered that two had indeed very sadly passed away before their first birthday. (this was actually a pretty common thing back then and the life span of most adults back then rarely went past 50)

So here it is, In order of their births:

1. Gertrude b:1888 d:1973 (In 1913 became an nun “Sister Clarella.”)
2. Fred b:1889 m:1920 (Married Lydia Marklein) d:1941
3. Clara Mathilde b:1890 m:1914 (Married J.Van Duzer) d:1932 (Relatives
located on this side of family.)
4. Emmy b:1892 d:1892 died as infant
5. Frieda b:1894 d:1973 became a nun “Sister Richardis”
6. Charles Richard b:1895 d:1895 died as infant
7. Katherine b:1896 m:1918 (Married Henry Jager) d:1969
8. George Joseph b:1898 m:1917 (Married Florence Swaine) m: 2nd time in 1929 (Alice Anderson) d:1970
9. Margaret Helen b:1899 m:1919 (Married Frank Robarge) d:1971
10. Clara b:1901 m:1927 (Married Henry Ulrich) d:1962
11. Rose Anna b:1903 m:1925 (Married William Ross) d:1974
12. Alfred b:1906 m: 1933 d: unknown?
13. Marie Elizabeth b:1909 (never married) d: unknown ?

#8 – George Joseph is our Grandfather . Also very new information is that he was married twice and his second wife – Alice Anderson our Grandmother, was the mother of our father George Charles. It is important to note here that in the 1950’s which was shortly after World War II and the holocaust, our Grandfather knocked off a ‘N’ on our last name. I remember our mother telling me it was a business decision based on the name Hartman (one ‘N’ Jewish) and Hartmann (2 ‘N’s’ being German). Since most salesmen in America in the 1950’s were Jewish, it was said that they merely avoided any contacts with German people.

I am trying very hard to get in touch with the woman that posted this information on the web. Her Grandmother was our Grandfather’s sister; Clara Mathilde. I have emailed her twice so far with no return. Of corse I will never stop trying.
Somewhere out there are photos of this family and I think she may have them. It would be amazing to look into the faces of a one-hundred year old family of fifteen and to see, perhaps, our own likeness’. You must understand that DNA and generation to generation chemistry is carried on and passed. We are what they were and although every individual that has ever visited this planet is entirely unique, but that families are in some spiritual and chemical way… are tied together for all eternity.
-more info to come-

Posted in HERITAGE, Mom Dad, the beginning, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

How I never met Madonna

This is it. It has been ALMOST ten years since our wonderful mother has passed. Seems like yesterday right? As I write this it is almost exactly ten years ago that she happened upon a paper and pen and wrote what is now the very front (index) page of the family web site.Also this week it has been two years since they took me in the office in New York at Apple Digital Graphics and told me “It was nice, but it’s over.” The most I remember of that was the very blurry and surreal ten block walk to the early (at least today it was) long bus ride home. “So…here I am again. Looking for work.” and I always think of those lucky bastards that always have a way to not punch the clock, yet they make it through life. Or the other lucky bastards that put in an application for ONE job. Get it. Then work it for twenty-thirty years and retire and go home. They never have any clue of what it is like to be standing in the cold begging for a job.

A very somber photo of a woman who had a tough life.

So in those two years since my NYC layoff I’m thinking-I don’t miss that art community at all-nor do I have any faith or love for any art community for that matter. They are all self-centered selfish jerks that are so totally absorbed in their own crap and are constantly fishing for compliments. Once I went into a Barnes and Noble Book store with an “artist” (many years ago” and I was excited to look at art magazines with this person to get ideas, inspiration etc etc. But this person, you see, refused. “I don’t look at other peoples art, I’m too involved with my own.” (buzzer sound) Guess what “artist”??? wrong fucking selfish answer!! I don’t know why I am constantly measuring time. And I measure time by years. And a year is alot. Ten years since my mother died. Ten years since I got fired at Lucent Technologies, two years since the Apple Digital Graphics layoff. Almost ten years since 9/11 terrorist attack. Ten years since my divorce. In the last two years all the disastrous dates, fumbled relationships, sleeping in my car, collecting unemployment, living in the woods in upstate NY somewhere, the interviews, the “under-the-table” weedwhacking job in the ninety degree Summer days. The bouts of severe depression, staying sober through it, feeling a million years from my children. Then the art teacher and another art community and her layoff . Throwing on a dress shirt in the parking lot of the Parsippany Hilton for yet ANOTHER job interview. By now, well versed and confident (I have been in this hot seat of questions way too many times to not be nervous anymore. The English guy called me the next day (while I was working at a sign design shop in New City New York, sleeping in my car) and told me that I got the job but I already knew that by the way he was eyeing me in the interview. I’m not afraid anymore after these two years. I’ve been through so much shit that I have become a very wise man. When I met Cat, I was Dog. I was still sunburned from cutting the lawns and weedwhacking in Central New Jersey. I was late for the first date. I was sleeping in my office. I was living one day at a time. A little while after that, the British guy told me to meet him at Ruths Chris Steak House for dinner and as I was chewing on a $50 dollar steak, my boss from New York called and wanted me back. I made a fool outta myself, the phone slipping out of my hands from the garlic butter and I couldn’t turn the ring tone off. The British guy gave me a 10 grand raise and a year later after that a $5,000 dollar after Christmas bonus. For what? For becoming a total extension of this new job. For living, eating and sleeping graphics. For pretty much performing miracles of 60-70 hour work weeks. In this time I met Mike who was married to Joanna who was my girlfriends sister. She quit a nice salaried job to go back to school at the Visual Arts in NYC by special invite. Mike is an extremely talented puppet creator who sides as a Saturday Nightmares convention maker. He ran into a little trouble making puppets on ebay with some sesame street copyright infringement bullshit but now has a way around it. Joanna was handed a brand new guitar on the first day of a second semester class (with 18 others) and was told to pretty much create something from it. Based on a musician and her/his charity. So I guess most famous people with alot of money have charity’s sincere or not-basically to make them feel less guilty for being richer than God and it always works nice as a TAX WRITE-OFF. So my girlfriends EX has a job where he builds floats for parades. I never knew that could be a real job, let alone a year-round full time job. I thought the puppet making job was pretty cool but building parade floats is right up there. Meanwhile down in Florida the property that is in my name is slowly deteriorating but my very talented wood-working brothers, Grant and Gary are going to fix it up and rent it out. I have fallen behind on the taxes and the property insurance has expired. The only neighbor that lives there, Tim (the same first name as my British boss) told my crafty brothers that he caught a man with a pick-up truck trying to steal my refrigerator from the property. This is a disturbing thing, when something 2,000 miles away from you is being taken. Talk about feeling helpless. I wasn’t even sure how old the refrigerator is so I asked my brothers and they said “pretty new” so now that pissed me off. If it was really old, maybe I wouldn’t care if he took it, the fucking thieving bastard. My girlfriend creates many different kinds of art

Seven chakra jewelry

and recently sold something to someone in Belgium. Now THAT is how powerful the WEB has become. I used to love my job but now, I don’t know. It has sucked all my creative energy into a ball and thrown it away. I have been on my hands and kness looking for it. Egypt is so far away, I don’t care. Since Tim has become my boss, slowly but surely, all my crazy bills have gotten paid off. I can buy books and magazines for myself again. I go out to eat in strange nice places. I have lived in the THREE New Jerseys in my life. South. Central and now this wild jungle called North Jersey. There are alot of nice neighborhoods up here. Here, in the shadows of New York. I have found myself in strongly -knit Poish communities, waiting in line for pork and bread. Listening for hours to Polocks speaking Polish. Thinking that maybe old school Communism is gonna be ok.

Garfield, little Poland as seen from Botany Villiage

Here in Botany Village the melting pot of the north Jersey. Here in the depths of the year 2011, on a rainy cold night in the beginnig of March. In between Winter and Spring, Easter and rolling black clouds. I miss my family, I miss dancing with my brothers in my bedroom to the Grateful Dead, I miss being alone, I miss someone “liking” what I took a photo of. I miss being heard, I’m a little tired of listening, to all my employees, to my two boys, to my close friends and all their new endeavors and the exciting things going on. If I keep listening long enough I will learn another language. I could weed whack the McMansions of the rich people using no hands. If that butterfly guitar that opens from Africa ever gets into the view of Madonna, there would be a slight chance that I could meet her. We could smoke cigarettes together and sip long glasses of brandy. Joanna the designer, Merick the contractor, Mke the puppet and convention creator, Halina the nurse and Jack the float builder, Krystina the art teacher, Charles the guitar player, Anna the singer, Josh and Jonathan, my long lost dad, my mother would all be there. My mom would be writing letters, half in the bag, scribbling memories of her short life, spent one third of it pregnant, watching John Wayne movies….and sleeping in the room downstairs that used to be our garage. You will walk through life and meet all kinds of people. We all do this….and enjoy your life, with Gods help we can all be together again. (great advice mom)
_The effects of the moon-

February's full moon-2011

Posted in friends, Gratitude, Tall Tales | Tagged , , , | 1,931 Comments