|
Bud Grossmann’s
Words of the Week
for the Week of
February 18, 2007
Published with Gramma Letter
subscriptions, 1994 through 1999.
© 1994, 2007 by Bud Grossmann.
All Rights Reserved.
|
| | |
Woman Writing, 1972
© 1972 by Bud Grossmann
|
One Good Way to Write a Family History
So. You want to write a family history, rich with the lore of your parents’ and grandparents’ lives, something to give new generations a picture of their past and a sense of how that past shapes the present day. Well, I can suggest one good way to tell the story.
I am a writer, a storyteller. I like to see my own words on a page and love to hear someone read them aloud. The ideas in this essay apply to writing, but they also can help you give depth and direction to tape recorded or videotaped interviews or your own adaptation of fill-in-the-blank family history booklets purchased from a greeting card rack.
My grandparents (on my dad’s side) and I wrote letters back and forth almost from the time I first learned to form my ABC’s. But it wasn’t until I was 44 years old—and Gramma Grossmann was 92—that I set out to preserve on paper a compact and organized collection of family stories.
In an intense exchange of a couple dozen letters, Gramma and I gathered some fragments of family history and published (photocopied) a loose-leaf book called A Mess of Asparagus. The book by no means gives a complete and accurate picture of Gramma’s long life, but it does display her strength and beauty, her wisdom and character. I have heard a few murmurs of approval from Gramma’s children and grandchildren who have read it.
Gramma and I now exchange letters on a weekly basis, and, as we go along, I am learning a few things about interviewing techniques.
I start, usually, by giving Gramma a reference point. Often I begin by telling a little story about something I remember from my childhood, and then I ask what Gramma can tell me about it. Or I mention something current in my life and encourage Gramma to relate it to her own experiences.
Some histories I’ve read are simply collections of facts. That’s enough to satisfy some people, but, me, I prefer to go beyond Names-Dates-&-Places to ask questions such as “What was it like when...?” and “How did you...?” and “What would you have liked to...?” I avoid asking questions that can be answered with an unadorned yes or no.
Whenever I can, I pursue and include context and details. My cousin tape recorded his interview of our grandparents (in their 80’s at the time) and gave me copies of the tape and the interview booklet. One line in the booklet lists the date of birth of Gramp and Gram’s first-born child. Nothing more, just a calendar date to tell the whole story of Aunt Dorie’s birth. But when I listened to the tape, I heard Grampa tell an exciting tale of himself as a young dad-to-be indignantly refusing the services of a whiskey-filled physician and then setting off on foot on a cold Wisconsin autumn night in search of a more responsible doctor to attend to mother and child. To put the longer story on paper takes some quick secretarial work, but I think it’s worth the effort.
So my advice is, write fast (and use a tape recorder). Try to get the person’s exact words, and put as much down on the page as you can. Then clean up the draft (trim off the fat), check it with the person you interviewed, and revise it again if you must.
Often a story is improved by telling how the person spoke. Words like these can help: hesitantly, crisply, emphatically; folded her arms across her chest; sighed deeply; made my mouth water; shouted, chuckled, declared; ...
Another thing: follow up on the juicy stuff! In that same booklet, my cousin noted, “Ferne abused Gramp & Reuben—spoiled, only girl.” Well, for heaven’s sake, isn’t that ambiguous! I wish my cousin had cross-examined the old gent on that accusation against his sister and then had gone to Aunt Ferne so he could tell us her side of the story. I believe we historians have an obligation to weigh the consequences of putting into print remarks that might embarrass or sadden family members. But I’m inclined to write too much instead of too little. When I dig up some real good dirt, though, I’ll invent a pen name for myself and begin writing a novel.
Be prepared to use poetic license. History is full of interpretations and differing points of view. Get the gist of the story right, but don’t become obsessed with precise accuracy. When someone insists to old Uncle Seth that it was an alfalfa field where Aunt Sarah shot the twelve-point buck and not a clover field, apply a Does-It-Really-Matter? Test. When someone tells a story that lacks a punch line, I give you permission (and encourage you) to make one up.
Finally, my last recommendation for today is this: make copies. Share your story with family and friends. Get them to improve upon it, get them to build upon it.
Oh, wait, there’s always one more thing. Remember to say thank you to the people who trust you with their stories. And if you aren’t from Wisconsin, maybe you can even say “I love you.” ♦
|
