Thanks For the Memories, Dad

by Barbara Miller Beem

Not so very long ago, June was the month for brides, grads, and Dads. But these days, the time when couples are most likely to say “I do” is in October. And as for diplomas, mortar boards, and walks across the stage, many graduation ceremonies are over and done with by the end of May. I guess that leaves dear old Dad as the focus of this month’s attention. Come to think about it, that’s not a bad thing. Not at all.

Looking ahead to Father’s Day, I’m remembering my own Dad, as well as my two grandfathers (aka Pop Miller and Pop Fuchs). Thanks to my having fallen heir to some of the things that these three men treasured, I’m not just limited to fond memories. I have physical reminders of who they were and what they cared about. I’ll begin with my father.

A member of what has come to be called the “Greatest Generation,” Bob Miller always gave his all. Born in Allentown, Pennsylvania, Bob grew up in Baltimore during the Great Depression. He put his education on hold to serve in the United States Navy during World War II. And by the time he settled down and became the head of a household, he had neither the time nor the money that it takes to be a serious collector.

On the other hand, he learned at an early age to take care of what treasures came his way. In light of that, I suppose it’s not surprising that I still have his diecast metal Tootsietoys, dating from the early 1930s. Kept in a box, they’re now very nearly a hundred years old, an assortment of cars (including roadsters with rumble seats) and trucks (the dump truck can still dump). Some of them are missing their tires, and most of them show some paint loss, but no matter. I bring them out and display them in my home on special days.

As for his time in the Navy, it’s the postcards and other various souvenirs from Pompeii that have always intrigued me. Then there are the newspapers that he picked up along the way, ones with momentous headlines. Sad to say, I have yet to determine what to do with these objects other than to keep them stored in a suitcase. I’m open to suggestions.

Naturally, I have a few pieces of his jewelry. But perhaps the most unique thing I have from him is a wooden ballot box. Once used by his union local to conduct elections, the box, along with white and black marbles, were cast aside in favor of a more modern method to poll members. Dad, knowing a good thing when he saw one, salvaged the box before it made its way to the dump. Just saying, it’s lovely.

As for my Dad’s dad, Eugene Oscar (love that name!) left behind a pocket watch on a chain; he primarily used it to time his car trips back and forth from Baltimore to Allentown (“making good time” was important to him.) The chain is long gone, but the watch still keeps pretty good time. A few years ago, I paired it with a fleur-de-lis brooch, making it possible for me to enjoy it on the lapels of my jackets and coats.

I also have a few samples of his distinctive handwriting. Pretty special.

And then there’s my Mom’s dad, Raymond Henry (another great name!). I still have the pin that he earned for perfect attendance in Sunday School, as well as a tiny book of religious devotions that he kept in his pocket and read daily. But in my mind, the most special keepsake that reminds me of him is his wooden collar box. Now there’s a treasure. To be honest, I’m not sure how I beat out my cousins for this one. I love boxes, and I particularly love this one. Its provenance makes it irreplaceable.

Looking back, however, I think that the best gift that I received from this trio of men is not “things.” Instead, it’s an interest in family legacies, stories handed down from one generation to another. Respect for old things. The need not to have to “collect the set.” The reluctance to toss aside something wonderful just because it might be considered obsolete. A love of family. And, of course, an appreciation of baseball.

I hope that my nostalgic trip down memory lane this month has inspired you to take your own sentimental journey, because, let’s face it, in the end, old things are just, well, things. But when the memories and stories behind them are kept alive, well, they’re charms.

Share your stories with me at thecharmjoac@gmail.com. And listen to me on What’s It Worth II on the third Thursday of every month. Tune in to WBCB1490 at 9 a.m.