The past belongs to everyone who was there. What do you remember? ADD YOUR STORY
your stories
Jeff Welch is our cousin, the son of our dad’s brother Don. This is his story.
“Looking back, I have very vivid memories of both your parents, but there were those long stretches when I didn’t see them or you guys. Then all of a sudden I’m at your dad’s funeral. Not long before I was in our grandfather’s hospital room, with my dad, saying our goodbyes. The grandfather coughing up bits of blood and tissue, decades of heavy drinking and unfiltered Camels gaining the upper hand. As it turns out, we’d missed your dad’s visit by a few minutes. He died in the car accident on the way home from that visit. Grampy made it. I think this was the first time when I saw how the script sometimes gets it horribly wrong.”
“It had been a while since I’d seen Uncle Bob, probably ten years. A lot of what I learned about his and my dad’s upbringing I found out later. Like the scheme of raising chinchillas for profit in a corner of the cellar they dug out themselves. I don’t know if you guys remember that house they grew up in, or that basement room with the makeshift door with a big chinchilla painted on it. It looked like a giant rat. After I asked my dad why they had a secret rat temple in the basement, he wouldn’t provide many details, just that it didn’t pan out the way they’d planned. The official story was that chinchillas fell out of fashion before they could cash in. I can imagine a mother with seven kids would not have been too keen on the idea of a basement full of rodents. I think the last time I saw them together, your dad and mine, was at a birthday party on Cape Code for our grandfather, before Dan and Diana were born.
Aunt Ann was the coolest. Not only did it boost my suburban street cred to have a famous TV star aunt, she also sent great gifts at holiday time. The big box would arrive that had the annual fruitcake, packed alongside separately wrapped gifts for each of us. Then the wait. On the big day the unwrapping didn’t disappoint, at least when it came to Aunt Ann’s stuff. One year I got The Phantom Tollbooth, the best kids’ book I’ve ever read. Another year a telescope you put together by popping the lenses on either end of the box that it came in, along with that note from her encouraging me to look forward to getting ‘curiouser and curiouser’. (It was later when, following her advice, I found out she was quoting Alice in Wonderland.) Another time she sent an owl bank, cube-like and primitive looking, made of scratchy painted plaster. Sort of folkster/hippieish, in a 70’s sort of way: big wide eyes, but with an edgy pagan eeriness to it. That’s what I loved. The big yellow headlight eyes would kind of glare at you from across the room, mute and menacing. My grandmother, who was terribly superstitious, would balk at any kind of bird effigy in the house. Owls were especially suspect; who knows why. Well, it became a bit of a game that Christmas, having Aunt Ann’s owl bank appear mysteriously on the scene.
“Look Nana, there’s an owl peering out at you from UNDER THE TREE!”
“Hey, how’d that owl get on the dining table RIGHT NEAR NANA?”
I don’t know if you guys ever met her, but Nana had a bit of a rep as a battle-axe, and when I was young it was always an easy, fun antidote to boredom to get her riled up. And that owl bank was a most excellent prop. Thanks Aunt Ann! (I don’t know if you’d heard how Nana the battle-axe was captivated by your dad, whom she met back when my parents were dating.)
Thinking back on more recent events, I could have sworn Diana was at that big get-together in Maine in 1986. I remember it well — chatting with Liz about college and Cambridge, where we both happened to be living at the time, talking to Dan about reggae (I think there was a Haile Selassie shirt involved), meeting Karen, and chatting with Amanda about who were all those people she was feeding? Maybe they showed up just for Amanda’s free food. Too many people there to keep track of it seemed. When I met Diana at Uncle Russ’ funeral, I was shocked to find out she wasn’t. It was as if she was there, just not physically present. It still doesn’t add up that I met her at your dad’s funeral, then again at Russ’ much later, and never in-between.
One memory I’ll always hang on to is seeing all four of you at my dad’s funeral, in the spring of 1997. I’m sure it was no small inconvenience schlepping in from all corners of the country. Especially given the raging blizzard that was dumping three feet of snow and ice on us in the midst of it all. Many people were understandably deterred by the dangerous conditions, and we certainly don’t blame them. I was calling people telling them not to show. But I’m glad you guys made it. Your presence and kindness and warmth will always be remembered with fondness and gratitude. Thank you, Liz, Diana, Dan, and Amanda. Many congratulations (and a big Uncle Russ hug) on the book.”
