Even though Halloween has passed, I’ve got a few more ghosts to share. First, remember my picture of that rambling house in Placerville that was done up for Halloween?
Well, I passed it the other night and it looks wonderfully spooky.
Second, remember that I had attended Poe Fest in Baltimore last month? Well, loyal reader Peter D found this (dubious) evidence of Poe’s presence among us in Berkeley, CA:
But what I really want to focus on is a ghost from my own past: my grandfather Henry Boilard (i.e., my dad’s dad). I never met the man. What’s more, neither did my dad. Grandpa Henry shipped out in the merchant marine just days after dad was conceived, and Grandma Ruth never saw him again. His name was never spoken around our house, as dad could never forgive his father for abandoning the family.
That’s pretty much all I knew about Grandpa Henry until a dozen years ago. That’s when I was contacted out of the blue by someone in Vermont named Bonnie. Bonnie had come into possession of a letter that my grandmother had sent to Bonnie’s grandfather in the 1980s. Bonnie’s grandfather was none other than Henry Boilard.
By sending her letter Grandma Ruth was trying to track down the man who had once been her husband and who was the father of her son. What she did not know was that Henry had died years earlier, and the letter she sent was received by Henry’s widow, Margaret. And Bonnie, who is Margaret’s granddaughter, found that letter and contacted me. Perhaps a family tree is in order:
So far as I know, no one among the west coast Boilards knew that Henry founded a second family on the east coast.
So, Bonnie and I are cousins. Her mom, Mary, is my aunt (and my dad’s half-sister). Bonnie knew Grandpa Henry until he died in 1967. She has shared stories and even some mementos with me.
At almost the exact same time that Bonnie contacted me, I came across a dusty old stack of typewritten pages that turned out to be my grandmother’s unpublished memoir. In it she describes the early years of her life in great detail, including her courtship and brief marriage to Henry. I edited that manuscript and had it published. If you’re interested, more information is here.
Just a month or two ago, however, Grandpa Henry came back into the picture. For the second time in a decade I’ve been contacted from out of the blue by someone who discovered a letter. This time my correspondent was a man named Jason, who came across some hundred-year-old letters in the attic of his childhood home in Champlain, NY. The home had once been owned by a family named LaFountaine, and somehow they left behind a sheaf of love letters that had been sent to the teenage daughter, Angela. Can you guess the letters’ author?
Henry Boilard
Once Jason had discovered the letters in the attic he was kind enough to try to track down Angela’s descendants. In this effort he was unsuccessful, so he refocused his effort on the descendants of the letter’s writer. And that’s how I came into possession of a stack of brittle, yellowed, termite-chewed letters that Grandpa Henry had written to Angela LaFountain almost exactly a century ago.
It is taking me some time to carefully open each letter, digitally scan it, and transcribe it for posterity. Let me share, without further comment for now, a letter from November 1925–written within a few months of his enlistment photo, above. Transcriptions of all 17 letters are posted on the “Grandpa’s Letters” section of my website.
Champlain, N.Y.
Nov. 16, 1925
Dear Sweetheart
This is the first chance I have to answer your lovely letter, which I just received and I was very glad to get it too. You speak of troubles but what troubles do you mean? I don’t remember any. If I knew you folks wouldn’t have kicked me out I would have went after you last Saturday to go to Malene. I went with Uncle Leon and Trefflie to the auction on car’s [sic]. You asked me to tell you if I cared for you “Dear” you know well I care more for you than you do for me Sweetheart.
Well are you going to that card party tonight if you do look for me around there. I wish I could see you more often “Dear.” But you want to come up to my place some day it’s very lonesome here alone.
Sweetheart if you show this letter to anybody as you did the last time I’ll never [write] again. Leslie told me you showed it to him that very night so be careful this time or you won’t receive another, Darling.
Well I’ll have to close as this is getting late now.
Good night dear Angela.
From your very best friend,
With love and kisses, Henry Boilard
About a million xxxx
P.S. Don’t show this letter.
