The Photo That Changed Lives

It all started with this photo and its corresponding note, written in my grandfather's handwriting, then corrected in blue by his sister, Jane:

Two weeks ago, in the post about Peepeye's birthday, I wrote about my grandfather Jack Burtnett's album and how I believe it's my duty to treasure and keep it. As promised, I did spend some time with it in honor of what would have been Peepeye's 100th birthday. The feeling that came over me was one of lament, that I would never know these fine relatives long dead, and what a shame it was that I have all these pictures yet know not what happened to many of the people or their descendants.

Then I came to the photo above with the note stuck there long ago by Peepeye and Jane. Who can help but spend extra time studying such an extraordinary group? I knew who Alda was: the sister of my great-grandfather, Harry Burtnett (Peepeye's father). That made her Peepeye's aunt, and my Dad often still mentions Aunt Alda and what a character she was. Howard was her husband, and through research I knew his last name was Mangus. Kermit, Theda, Amber, and Neal were their children, and they lived in Cleveland, Ohio. The back of the photo told me that it was taken there in 1943.

I looked at these four cousins of my grandfather and longed to know them. What kind of people were they? What ever happened to them? Eaten up with curiosity, I headed to the computer and searched for each one, in order. Kermit Mangus was born in 1914, and Theda in 1915, so they are deceased, and I found that Amber was, too. However, after a little time, I saw that Neal Mangus is alive and well in Florida. I'll give him a call, I thought!

And call him I did. To my delight and to his surprise, we chatted for the better part of an hour. I found this 88-year-old gentleman, the good-looking 16-year-old in the photo, utterly charming. In his western Pennsylvania accent, he told me funny and helpful things about himself and the Burtnetts. When I asked him about Alda, Harry, and their siblings, he recalled, "They all had stark white hair. We'd have reunions once in a while. They all were very nice...all very religious."

About life in Johnstown, Neal said, "We lived right by the river, slaughterhouse, and junkyard...it was a great neighborhood where a kid could get in trouble!" The family left Pennsylvania when brother Kermit landed a job in Cleveland, and helped his father, Howard, get one as well, during a time when work was hard to find. Neal remembered staying on for a year with his sister, Theda, while the family got settled in Cleveland. When he was a boy, Neal lost his younger sister, Jean, who was only three. He said, "We both had pneumonia, and she died in the bed right next to me." My heart ached for Aunt  Alda to have gone through that. 

Aunt Alda & Uncle Howard Mangus, shortly before his death in 1951.

My grandfather's cousin, Neal, is a winsome man. We agreed how happy we were to have found each other, and that we will communicate often. All of this happened on Peepeye's birthday, and I couldn't help but think he'd be excited to know I had found a Burtnett relative. But that's just the beginning.

Neal encouraged me to speak to his son, Dave. Again, I had to make a call and identify myself as a long-lost relative, and again, I was received warmly. Dave took the time to talk to me for almost an hour, too, and recommended that I call Theda's daughter, his cousin, Karen Crawford, who also lives in Neal's town. At that moment, my heart was filled to overflowing, so my contact with Karen came a few days later. All through this, I mused over the fact that it all started with a photo and a post-it note.

Karen is one of Theda Mangus Hammond's two children; her brother, Rodger, is older. She was forthcoming with information and willing to share all she knew. She and her Uncle Neal see each other often. She described Alda so I could learn more about her: a "character," as my Dad had told  me, who lived in Johnstown after Howard died, until her death from cancer in 1964. 

A tremendous piece of the family puzzle that Karen helped with has to do with Amber, sister of Theda, Kermit, and Neal. Not only did Alda lose Jean and another baby, but in the early 1950's, she lost her daughter, Amber, to an untimely, tragic death. At the time of her death, Amber was married to Bill Saum and had two sons, Ken and Gregory. Ken was a young teenager, but Greg was only a baby. I studied the photo and marveled at this family that endured such hardship, the family who, at the time of the photo, had no idea of the trials to come.

Bill Saum remarried, Karen said. After telling me a few more details, she asked, "Remind me again where you live?" When I said western North Carolina, she responded, "Ken's son lives in Asheville!" I couldn't believe it. Did I really have a third cousin this close in proximity? Did my poring over Peepeye's album, singling out this photo, seeing the post-it, calling Neal, Dave, and Karen...really lead me to a relative practically in my backyard?

The short answer is, yes! In all this research, I am becoming adept in finding people, an amateur sleuth of sorts. It turned out that I found my cousin, who lives next door to a friend of my husband! Within minutes of my sending an email with the long details of who I am and how we're related, his wife wrote back! Not only were they ecstatic to hear from me, but we planned to meet the following weekend!

When we met the Saums yesterday, it was as if we had known each other all our lives. We were all wanting to know each other and be known. Because of his grandmother's death so long ago, Kevin Saum had not known her side of the family well. Until yesterday, he had never even seen a photo of Amber. His lovely wife and I looked on with lumps in our throats as Kevin gazed at the photo in the album, and many more. What a blessing it is to bridge the gaps that have been open for so long!

Need I say again that all of this started with the album my grandfather loved so dearly? It had led to two third cousins and their spouses in a kitchen, looking at a crumbling book, sharing stories about loved ones long gone. Amber is worth remembering; what we did and are doing honors her, as well as our other departed loved ones. It's never too late to pick back up. Family ties can never be broken as long as members are willing to strengthen them again.

With Kevin Saum

This post is extra long because the circumstances just keep getting better! After the Saums left, I texted Dave Mangus this photo and told him about me finding Kevin within 25 miles of my house. He said he was in Sarasota visiting Neal, and proceeded to send me copies of old family photos, including two more of Amber. One of these was taken the same day as the famous photo that started my searches! Now Kevin and his siblings, father, and uncle have pictures of the grandmother and mother they lost. I believe God is using this to help and grow us all in many ways.

The photo from Dave Mangus, the same day as the one in the album.
Back: Kermit, Neal, Bill Saum.
Front: Hazel Mangus and her children, Kermit Jr. and Jeanne, Howard and Alda Mangus, Theda and her son, Rodger, Amber and young Ken.

Who imagined that looking through the album would produce such fruit? Who knew how many Burtnett descendants are out there, glad to be found? Who knew that Kevin's family and mine would form an instant connection? I like to picture my great-grandfather, Harry (known to us as "Pop"), and Kevin's great-grandmother, Aunt Alda, delighting in this reunion of a family long grown apart. I wish I could tell Peepeye all about it, and that he could talk to his cousin Neal. I wish Amber knew that she is not forgotten. What a privilege it is to bring us all back together.  

"I will restore to you the years the locusts have eaten." (Joel 2:25)

Thank You, Lord...I can't wait to see where this will lead next.

Dora, Chini, & Capuchinos

Some of my most treasured memories are about people who weren't blood related, but might as well have been. Dora and Andres "Chini" Cruz were such people. My grandmother and Dora had known each other as acquaintances in Cuba, but found themselves in the same circle of Latin American friends after settling in Spartanburg, South Carolina.

Chini was born in Remedios, Santa Clara, Cuba, on July 12, 1925. He had worked in Cuba rolling cigars, and cut shirt collars at S&S Manufacturing in Spartanburg. Dora was born on January 6, 1921, in Jovellanos, Cuba, the oldest of three Correa sisters. She, along with my grandmother, also worked at S&S as a sewer. In Cuba Dora had been employed at a clothing store.

This couple was a fixture for me during my childhood until they moved to Miami in 1987. Because they had never had children, I was like a grandchild to them. I can still imagine the days as a kid when Papi, my grandfather, and I would drive to pick up Abue and Dora from work. I can see those two, sweaters and purses slung over their shoulders, ambling down the walk toward the car. Dora, smelling of stale smoke, a cherry Lifesaver candy clicking around in her mouth, would climb into the backseat beside me. She was a tiny lady, barely five feet tall, with reddish-brown tinged beehive hair, perfectly painted brown eyebrows, huge glasses, polyester suits, and a rough but sweet smoker's voice.

My grandmother, Esther Jimenez, and Dora, sometime in the late '70's.
I well remember that green shiny chair, as well as those cone-shaped lights.

They had been our neighbors at Georgetown Village Apartments when I was very small. My American-born Dad tells the story of Dora serving him pig's feet stew, and how he broke into a sweat and she ended up insulted. Another time, used to asking babies "Tienes sueñito?" ("Are you sleepy?" but it's kind of like saying to a child, "Are oo sweepy?"), when my Dad saw Chini yawn, he posed him the baby question. There are many hilarious little tales like this involving them.

Chini was gentle, always with a cigar in hand, and a pocket protector in his shirt. His hands shook with Parkinson's, and he was my buddy. He spoke virtually no English, to the point that my Dad remembers it as "not even 'hello'." He had open heart surgery in 1987, before moving to Miami. He died in 1996, and Dora passed away maybe five years ago, maybe more...I lose track.

I was in the first grade when this photo with Dora and Chini was
taken at my grandparents' house on Brookside Road, Spartanburg.

A child takes for granted the older generation that provides joyful times. We have no idea at the time that memories are being made, and that these people who are part of who we are will one day be no more. Oh, how I miss Dora and Chini! It is hard for me to grasp that they left Spartanburg when I was only eleven, as they had such an impact on my daily life. Once they were in Miami, I only saw them on yearly trips down there. They lived in a different place, Chini was sick and weak; it just wasn't the same.

As I've written before, the longing I have for folks such as these can be heartbreaking at times. I thank God for the love they poured into me, and for the funny, beautiful things I recall about them. Dora and Chini are worth remembering. I have albums full of them and the fun we had, and every now and then will take time to savor the photos and let my mind wander back.

When I was little, Chini made all the desserts for my birthday parties. He loved baking, and was known to advise others to always put in a pinch of salt, regardless of whether or not the recipe called for it. I do this and think of him. My aunt, Margarita Jimenez of Ft. Lauderdale, reminded me of a fantastic way in which I can remember and honor Chini: by recreating the delicious "capuchinos" from the same recipe that he used to make.

These are delicacies: "dulces finos," my aunt calls them, because they are fine, elegant sweets usually sold in bakeries, not often prepared and eaten at home. Chini made them every time I had a party, and I grew up savoring their lucious sweetness. As an adult, I had all but forgotten about capuchinos, then one day decided I had to revive this dainty from my childhood.

The following recipe comes from my aunt, but creates capuchinos just like the ones that Chini would produce for my birthdays:

For the syrup: 2 cups sugar, 1 cup water, 1 tsp. vanilla extract, a few drops of lemon

For the cakes: 5 egg yolks, one egg white, 1 tsp. sugar, 2 tsp. cornstarch

You will need a muffin pan for miniature muffins, and many mini muffin cups.

Don't forget a pinch of salt!

Boil all the syrup ingredients, and set the pot aside. It will look like this:

To get the cake part ready, mix the egg parts on regular speed, then add the sugar and little by little the cornstarch. At first, your mixture will look like this:

This will look like a very small amount at this point. Once the ingredients (and the tiniest pinch of salt!) are mixed, turn the mixer on high speed, and walk away. As my aunt says, do your laundry or clean, allowing the mixer to continue at high speed for about twenty minutes. During this time, go ahead and turn the oven to 350 and line your molds with mini baking cups. When it's ready, the mixture will look like this, almost like meringue:

Drop a small spoonful into each baking cup. Bake about eight minutes, until the capuchinos have risen. Turn the oven to broil, and allow the tops to brown. They will come out of the oven looking like this:

Once out of the oven, allow the capuchinos to cool only a minute or so, then remove them carefully from the wrappers. Do this slowly and deliberately to avoid sticking, and throw these used wrappers away. Place them in a 9x13 pan (or rectangular Tupperware container) and pour the syrup over them. I usually bake two batches, then pour the syrup over all of them at the same time. Refrigerate until ready to serve.

When you are ready to serve the capuchinos, they will have soaked up the syrup, and will be nice and gooey. Take out more wrappers (I use plain white for the baking, and save my pretty ones for plating). Place your attractive wrappers on a serving plate, and slowly take the dripping, syrupy capuchios and place them in the new wrappers. They will only stay there a moment, as these are eaten quickly, but they will look beautiful and wow your guests when you present them. More than that, the sight of them reminds me of how they looked at my birthday parties, made lovingly by Chini.

Happy Birthday, PeepEye

My grandfather, Jack Burtnett, and I were not close. It's wasn't intentional, but distance kept us from being as involved in each other's lives as I would have liked. It seems impossible that today, January 19, he would be 100 years old.

I called him "PeepEye," probably from a peek-a-boo game that stuck in a child's mind. My cousin, Laura, called him "Poppy." When either of us speaks of him, we use our special name, and the other knows who she means: John Harrison Burtnett, Jr., who we used to visit in the summer and on Thanksgiving at his house in Ashland, Kentucky.

He died on November 14, 1992, when I was just a teenager. So many things went unsaid, so many questions unasked. PeepEye appeared old in my mind, yet now I realize how young he had been. How many times did I have him at my disposal during all those visits, yet never thought to get to know him as a person, and not just as my grandfather who played golf or who yelled at the Mountaineers on TV when WVU fumbled the football?

I am blessed to have various mementos from his life in my possession. Here is a stunning page from his baby book, now one hundred years old:

Jack Burtnett was the son of Harry "Pop" Burtnett and Nellie "Mama Nell" McIlhany Burtnett. She was an excellent keeper of chronicles and newspaper clippings, as evidenced here. The writing at the top of the page is in Mama Nell's hand. Notice the signatures of the doctor who delivered PeepEye, as well as his nurse. Extraordinary!

Baby Jack Burtnett, 1916

PeepEye grew up in Charleston, West Virginia. Once, when I was around 14, I asked him, "Did you have a job when you were my age?" His sober response was, "Many grown men didn't even have a job when I was your age." I understood the reference to the Great Depression, and that gave me some perspective. Oh, to have asked him to sit down and pour out all that he remembered about that era!

Gammy and PeepEye had moved to Ashland, Kentucky, in the mid-1960's, where he worked for Ashland Oil. I remember going to his office once as a child. During one trip over Thanksgiving when I was in ninth grade, I had a dreaded science project, with no idea what to do. I did not inherit my grandfather's love of physics and engineering. I'll never forget the thrill it gave him to help me build a pulley system. Back then, I felt the relief of an assignment completed; today, God allows me to see something greater: the love of PeepEye, and something he and I did together. 

In fact, what has saddened me over the years is that I just don't have many memories of PeepEye. There are bits and pieces, like the time everyone on "Wheel of Fortune" won some money, and I remember him remarking, "I like it when all the contestants go home with something." I'm glad to have that glimpse into PeepEye's kind heart, yet there has been a type of void all this time, a longing to have really known him, this man who could lose it over a football loss, yet show quiet grace to me.

Then I thought of the album:

After Gammy died in 1996 and the house in Ashland was cleaned out, my Dad brought this book to South Carolina and eventually presented it to me. I have spent the past five years or so flipping photos, reading names, piecing together who is whom, locating long-lost descendants of the people in its photos, and yearning with all my heart to have my grandfather back so I could go over the album with him one more time.

See, this is the exact thing that PeepEye and I used to do, only I was too little to piece it all together. A child cannot fully comprehend the tapestry of a family tree, and of living relatives who one day will be no more. The photos were interesting and "cool" to look at, but the McIlhanys and Burtnetts ran together in my mind already filled with the preteen preoccupations of makeup, boys, and what to wear. 

A photo from the album: a young and dapper PeepEye
with his sisters, Nancy and Jane.

The older I get, the more the passage of time amazes me. Even greater is the longing to have just one more moment with those dear older folks from my past whose presence I took for granted. One night when this was weighing heavily, I had a dream. It was simple, yet profound: I was the age that I am now, yet PeepEye looked as I remember him. The album was open and the two of us sat looking at it. He said, "I'm glad you have the album." I can't recall if I answered, but the sensation of satisfaction and joy was evident.

PeepEye would be glad I have the album. Greater than that, after hearing my prayers about missing my grandfather and wishing I remembered more, the Lord enabled me to realize that the album was something that he and I shared. During my visits, PeepEye would take it out of the cabinet in the living room with the green carpet, then deliberately pause at every photo and describe the person or event. To think, the information I so desire has been heard by my ears before! He loved that album and the people in it. I do, too.

Me as a baby with PeepEye, 1977

Another sweet memory I've been able to have is of PeepEye asking me, "Do you know that PeepEye loves you?" On his birthday, I have gifts that I hope demonstrate my love for him, too. PeepEye, I will make sure that our album is well kept and appreciated. I promise to pass along a love for the people in it to my children, and we will spend time learning more about them. I will maintain this blog of family stories to be enjoyed by many. I will preserve your letters, books, and other special belongings.

Today I will make time to look through the album. Thank You, Lord, for bringing a baby boy named Jack into this world one hundred years ago. Thank You for our album and the love and joy it brings.

Esther's Story, Part 1

The following is from the memoirs of my grandmother, Esther Quintero Jimenez. She has passed along her love of family history to me, and has set an example of the importance of taking time to preserve memories for posterity. I will make every effort to properly translate from Spanish. The stories are extensive and will be posted in parts as I can get to them.

I was born in Jovellanos, province of Matanzas, Cuba, on November 28, 1919, at four in the afternoon. My parents were Manuel Quintero Rodriguez and Maria de los Angeles Plata Roldan; everyone knew her as "Chachita." My father was overseer of the farm "El Toro," and he had an offer to take a position as "second boss" of "Soledad," 7km from Jovellanos.

My aunt and uncle, Dr. Adriano Recio Fors and Otilia Plata, had had a daughter on July 31, their firstborn, named Yolanda. My parents planned to go see the new niece, even though my mother's pregnancy was advanced. The distance was very short but the road was very bad. Cleofe [my grandmother's sister] was two, and Olga [another sister] would turn one on December 2, and they went along with my parents. Soon after arriving, my mother says to my Aunt Martina that she had a small pain in her abdomen; my aunt prepared a remedy and she felt better. My mother didn't expect me until the end of December.

Manuel Quintero Rodriguez (Papo)
(1882-1963)

According to what my aunt told me years later, that day there was much conversation, and my mother's heavy pains continued. My Uncle Recio was a pharmacist at the Pharmacy of Jose Augustin Fernandez, which was at the corner of Marti and Enrique Junco, near his house. When my father went to buy a medicine for her stomach, my uncle preferred to go see my mother; he wanted to examine her. When he came out of the room, he told everyone, "The baby is going to arrive!" and he ran to the pharmacy for first aid, during which time Martina heated water and then help Recio with my birth. Finally, the cry of another girl was heard. Martina told me that she bathed me; then Otilia and my father ("Papo") came in to see me.

Maria de los Angeles Plata Roldan (Mama)
(1889-1984)

My father had to return to El Toro, and that week he returned to Jovellanos to get "Mama" and his three girls. When I was four months old, they sent my father to Soledad, where he began his position as co-overseer. The main overseer of the fields was Ramon Yera. At that time, there was the position of lower administrator, who was Fernando Andreu. When I was three, Papo would take me to his boss's house (Yera); I vaguely remember a family named Valcarcel, Paco and his wife, Adela. I don't recall what was Paco's job, but I saw him wearing leggings and horse-riding pants. Adela would hold me. They had four or five boys; I'm not sure. The youngest was named Esteban and they called him Estevita; he was blond and his hair made him look "pretty." Another son's name was Adel, from his mother's name, Adela. That was around 1922-23.


Be on the lookout for Esther's Story, Part 2!