Legacy2

Brian punched in his grandmother's number as soon as Mom announced dinner and cleaning finished. "Can I ask you some questions about growing up in Pittsburgh?"

"Of course, sweetie." Brian winced. He didn't like being called that. "Better yet, how about asking your mom to drive you over after school tomorrow? I'll have pictures ready to show you." She sighed. "I love visiting the old days, you know."

"Okay, thanks Grandma. See you then."

The next day, Brian submitted to his grandmother's hug and kiss before settling down at the kitchen table. Photo albums lay scattered across it like leaves after a fall wind.

"The good old days," Grandma sighed, and then laughed. "I remember when I rolled my eyes every time my own grandparents said those words. Now, I say those same words and understand what they mean." She picked up an album and placed it in front of her grandson.

"I don't remember the wild 60s. I was too young. My parents sometimes shared with me about the upheaval. The assassinations of the two Kennedy brothers. The death of Martin Luther King, Jr. and the ensuing riots. Even hit Pittsburgh where we lived. I'm glad I was only 3 years old that summer and too young to remember." She gazed at the ceiling for a few seconds.

"Two years later, students were shot by the National Guard up at Kent State in Ohio for protesting the VietNam war." A long sigh. "Such tumultuous times."

"Sort of like today?" Brian opened an album.

"I never thought about it, but yes. Just like today. Unrest all over the world. The constant threat of a nuclear attack. Immigration issues. Pandemic fears."

"Maybe even World War III?"

"I pray not." Grandma shivered, but then smiled. "Let's get back to my youth. The Ohio Valley was one of the most prosperous places in America after WWII, when my own parents were young. There were many pottery factories. Several steel mills, and, of course, coal mining."

Grandpa came in from the back porch, poured a cup of coffee and sat beside his wife.
"I remember wandering through the cemeteries as a boy," he said. "Before World War I, almost all names were Western European. English names." He lifted his mug. The Ohio Valley received a huge influx of migrants between the two world wars. Mostly Poles. Slavs. Italians." A sip and he placed the mug on the table.

"As your grandma said, there was plenty of work then. The migrants could get labor jobs even without knowing English. I remember he spoke of a classmate who was the oldest son of a large family of kids. His parents had never learned English. His father died when my friend's youngest sister was two years old, so he had to quit high school to support the family." Grandpa paused to study Brian. "He was your brother's age."

"Gosh. I can't imagine Josh supporting himself, much less a huge family."

"Boys became men at young ages. I also remember a relative whose father died when her brother was only 10 years old. Same thing. He quit school to support his mom and sister."

"A kid working at 10?" Brian gulped.

"Yes. The measure of manhood isn't age, son. It's called responsibility." His eyes caught and held Brian's. "Do you think you could give up video games to support your mom?"

Brian shook his head.

"Those boys went straight into factory work. Labor requires more muscle than education. There was no welfare or government assistance then. Now, when the supporting parent dies, all minor children receive an SSI check until they reach 18. Back then, they were on their own."

Brian fell silent. He thought about all the things he enjoyed doing. Gaming. Sports. Hanging out with friends. Suddenly, school seemed preferable to a job working 10 â?" 12 hours a day.

"What about you, Grandpa? Anything exciting in your family history?"

"Well, my father told me his grandfather was in the great Johnstown flood. Happened..." He stopped to scratch his head and adjust his ball cap. "I think May of 1889. The story goes that he rescued a 6-year-old from drowning." A wry smile. "When he got dementia, he thought I was that young boy when I was 6 years old."

"What's the Johnstown flood?"

"Regular folks suffering at the whims of the rich," Grandma snorted.

"What do you mean?"

"The rich folks of Pittsburgh built a manmade lake up in the mountains to escape summer heat so they could folic in their spare time. Working folks had no such luxury. The lake was formed by an earthen dam. That year, the entire region was inundated with rain. And more rain. People had inspected the dam and warned that it had reached saturation point and could give way. Did the rich folk care? Nope. Just threw some dirt on top of the perceived weak spots and went on playing and enjoying life." Grandma's hands clasped. Unclasped. Grandpa laid his hand over hers and continued the story.

"The day the dam broke, the entire lake burst through the breach. A 70 foot wall of water rushed down the valley. Every small town in its path disappeared in mere minutes. Johnstown got hit the hardest. Some 30,000 folks lived there. Over 2,000 died that day."

A hush fell. Brian picked at his sleeve.

"What happened to the rich people?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? It was their fault! It's not fair!" Now, Brian's hands fisted.

"Life isn't fair, son." Grandpa reached across to cover one fist with his free hand.

"But beautiful," Grandma interjected. "Sure, it's been hard and we've worked for everything we have. But, we've had good times. Enjoying the four seasons." She sighed. "I do miss not having seasons here." Another pregnant pause.

"We got to watch your mom grow up. We love going to the beach. Even the marshes have their own raw beauty."

"I still love the smell of fresh-cut grass," Grandpa said.

"I remember the day your mama brought you home." Grandma smiled. "Yes, precious moments make life all worthwhile."

"I miss small town life," Grandpa said. Everyone knew everyone. We kids never got too crazy because we knew the neighbor adults could discipline us with our parents' blessing. Of course, we didn't appreciate it at the time, but now realize the value of a tight community."

"Do you know any other history of that area?" Brian asked. "Especially family history?

"Yes." Grandpa's shoulders drooped. "One very sad story. As you probably know, the Ohio River is formed from two other rivers, the Monongahela and the Allegheny. Those two rivers meet at the Point in Pittsburgh then join to form the Ohio River which eventually empties into the Mississippi. Back then, in the 1700s and early 1800s, water travel was the easiest and most cost effective. That's before railroads. The settlers needed those rivers to move goods and people. However, the Native Americans wanted to protect their land."

Grandma rifled through one album until she found pictures of the Point.

"Sure is beautiful." Brian bent to inspect the pictures while Grandpa continued his narrative.

"One of my ancestors was a scout along the Ohio River during the American Revolution. But, even before that, there were many clashes between the white settlers and native peoples. As with any conflict, it often turns to retribution for lives lost and gets more and more brutal." He stopped to sip his coffee.

'One day, several white settlers lured a party of natives from the Ohio side to the Virginia side â?" West Virginia was formed years later, during the Civil War. That was long before the lock and dam systems, so the river was easily crossed by canoe. As the natives drew their boats to shore, settlers leaped out of the bushes and killed most of them. A few managed to hide underwater and swim back to the Ohio side." Grandpa paused. Now, Grandma comforted him by patting his hand.

"It was horrible. Brutal. My ancestor was 17 years old at the time. Until his death, he swore he'd been merely a spectator, not participant." Grandpa shook his head.

"Being a male and having been a young man myself at one time, I can't believe his story. Peer pressure alone would force him to fight. You know peer pressure can make us do stupid things. Anyway, he is still celebrated as a colonial hero to folks in that area, but I always feel sad when his name comes up."

"I never heard Grandpa mention those stories before," Mom remarked as she and Brian buckled up for the drive home. "In fact, that's the most I've heard him talk in a long while. This assignment might do both your grandparents some good."