Callow and Indifferent Youth Misses Opportunity For Learning

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This article is written in response to a poignant story by Kate C., the remarkable journalist, regional historian, and raconteur who sometimes wears a wedding dress. 

Kate's story recalls an episode in her teen-age life in which she provided in home assistance for an elderly neighbor.  Resenting the demanding ways in which the lady ran her house, Kate never took an opportunity to encounter her or her history.

Lessons From Hazel 

In responding to this well-written tale, I was reminded of my own "missed opportunities". 

My parents knew, and were distantly related to, the minister of a large church in a nearby town.  The clergyman came from an ancient and prosperous family, members of which had endowed a museum that came to be very improtant to the region.  He was well-known for his learned and tedious arguments on any subject that might arise. 

While not hated or despised, he was the sort of person that was often discussed with a roll of the eyes as an obsessive, long-winded speaker.  He was also known to be very opinionated, and somewhat "prickly" about many subjects in which he had invested considerable study.

When I was a child, my parents seldom visited this man because he tended to explain his position on every issue with precison and detail that exceeded everyone's desire to know.  My mother, who attended his church in her youth, was more tolerant of the old cleric, while my father quickly tired of the one-sided arguments.

The clergyman and his wive inhabited a large country house, immaculately kept, which contained a Study, a Library, and an Office, all shelved high with books.  I liked visiting this man because of the  books.

The minister was remarkably tolerant of me, because I loved his books, and he would draw my attention to treasures of his collection.  He had examples of the earliest books published in the region and the state, and several pamphlets, monographs, and topical discussions that were privately printed and circulated in long-running public or church-related controversies.

These meant very little to me, and I would find a secluded corner of the Study and read from the collection of very old children's books and grammar school "readers". 

I avoided talking to him, partly because of the reactions of the adults around me, partly because I was scared of him, and mostly because I would rather read than talk.

Years later, when I was keenly interested in the history of the old families, the charming villages, the wonderful feuds, church controversies (complete with pamphlet wars, doctrinal investigations, rival churches), and the development of the region, every person to whom I spoke would mention the name of the old minister who had since died.

"It's a shame you can't ask Pastor (Blank)", they would say, " he had interviewed old (local magnate) before he died in 1929".  Or, "Pastor (Blank) always told the story about how the highway curves around Charming Village because Judge Worthy threatened the County Commissioners if they ran the road too close to his prized sheep."

My first published work was a chapter I contributed to a collection of essays about the development of a local institution.  At the time, I was employed by this organization, and accompanied the venerable CEO as we visited the homes or offices of the founding Board Members to record their recollections and to examine their memorabilia.

I discovered that Pastor (Blank) had already claimed this ground.  He had encouraged these men (they were all men) to create a written account of their deliberations and decision-making and to save all their correspondance.  Apart from the the sketchy Board minutes, these documents were the most important sources that an author could find.

Pastor Blank had died, in his ninetieth year, while I was away at University.  He left his entire collection of books (the whole house-full) to a local Historical Society.

I met socially with some of the curators and researchers who worked with this Historical association.  They told me that the collection of Pastor (Blank) had been annotated with marginalia in his own hand.  In some books, he had inserted typed notes and cross references, in some he noted his personal recollections or interview notes. 

The historians revered him as a "god".

I mentioned, once, that I had known him, and achieved minor celebrity on the spot.

For months afterward, individuals would ask hopefully, "You never heard Pastor (Blank) mention why the Rev. Stalwart refused to allow the Seminary to be built, did you?".  Or, "You don't recall Pastor (Blank) saying anything about the incident that caused SleepyTown to close the Colonial Tavern, do you?"

No, I never heard why the Prominents and the Plutocrats had feuded so long over the tiny property in Dullsville, why the BlueJackets had refused communion to the Greenjackets, why the locals were convinced there was a scandal behind the trolley line going bankrupt in 1937, or what had happened to the dashing Italian that had attracted the attention of the lonely heiress before he mysteriously disappeared.

I was in the corner, reading.