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Looking For My Grandmother

The first big scandal to mar my family was the death of my grandmother.  Anna Nix Riley was only 22 years old when she died Feb. 23, 1918. She had already given birth to four babies, two of whom died in early infancy. At the time of her death, my father was three years old and her youngest baby, Grace, was eight months old.

The scandal: my grandmother, Anna Nix Riley, was killed by an older man known to the family, William Beck, who had fallen in love with her. Quite possibly they had an affair. My grandparents lived in Covington, Kentucky, and Anna took the trolley to the Grand Hotel in Cincinnati to meet Mr. Beck where she told him that she would not leave her husband and go to St. Louis with him. She had her eight-month old infant, Grace with her.

Anna laid down on the bed with her baby girl and fell to sleep. A mother myself, I can only guess that she drifted off while coaxing her baby to sleep. Mr. Beck wrote a seven-page letter explaining how much he loved Anna and did not wish to go on living without her, shot her in the head while she slept, and then shot and killed himself.

While this would be headline news in any year, in 1918 it was a newspaper sensation that ran for several issues in the Cincinnati Enquirer and other local newspapers of the time. My grandmother became an anathema. She was never spoken of again and my father grew up knowing nothing about her. He learned early on that he could not ask about her; could never mention her or her name. I cannot imagine how that would damage a child’s self esteem since so much of our self image is a reflection of our parents.

Baby Grace? No one alive knows what happened to her. My father was raised by his father and paternal grandparents. Baby Grace disappeared. Another family must have taken her in but 100 years later, we do not know who that family was.

Anna Nix Riley was buried in Evergreen Cemetery south of Newport in an unmarked grave. No headstone marks the site, just a lot marker in section 42 lot 306 that is grown over and hidden by decades of shifting soil and grasses. Her grave has disappeared as did baby Grace. What I know of my grandmother I learned from census records, historical documents and newspaper clippings. It saddens me.

Evergreen Cemetery, South Gate, KY where Anna Nix Riley was buried in 1918
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My Path

Today, I had to provide a journalist with some information about myself. Strange, but photographs and articles about me have appeared in newspapers at least a dozen times. I say strange because I am not famous.
The first time an article about me appeared in the newspaper was in the Washington Post on Monday, November 17, 1969. My beau and I eloped to North Carolina and married on November 15, 1969. His family lived in the Georgetown area of Washington, D.C.
On the day that we married, there was an anti-war demonstration in D.C., and the next day, remnants of the 250,000 from the previous day’s demonstrations held a second rally at the Three Sisters Bridge- right en route to my young husband’s grandmother’s house. My new sister-in-law and her three-year-old son were in the car with us. We were locked in traffic; the police mistook us for demonstrators, gassed us, reached into our car with their clubs, left us with a few bruises, and broke my husband’s glasses. To a young reporter from the Washington Post, we were prime examples of police brutality in that long ago era of anti-establishment sentimentality.
Ok, that was an instance of wrong place, wrong time, but the subsequent times that articles about me appeared in the paper, it was for personal or professional accomplishments. This particular article is also about an accomplishment albeit a small one. Truth is, all of my accomplishments are newspaper ‘filler’, not headlines. This time, the Coast Guard Fine Art Program accepted one of my paintings for which I received a Public Service Award.
Getting back to today’s questions, after telling him about my military service (Army Air Defense 1974-1977) he remarked that I lead an interesting life. Was it interesting? Is that the right word? I have certainly had some unusual experiences. I had my share of triumphs and tragedies, but how does one live to be 60 years old and not be able to say that?
I failed in my first attempt at writing this blog about life after 60. According to Carl Jung, I am in the afternoon of life where my major developmental tasks are to integrate the conscious and unconscious parts of myself. He must be right. My dreams have taken strange twists and turns, and with many of them, I am not too pleased. I wake up wondering about my thoughts and attitudes, and yes, my feelings.
Whether I choose this direction or it chose me, I am on this path. I am integrating.

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Defining Moment

I’m quite surprised to find myself
At this place once again.
The last time that I chanced this way,
The trees threw gray shrouds over me,
Sounds of creatures frightened me,
And I ran off.
I thought I’d never lose my way
And end up here again.
Yet, now I’m here ‘neath these same trees.
I remembered them as darker, grayer, deeper,
The hoots and brays more malevolent.
I walk,
Casting glances back at where I’ve been.
I think that now I understand:
That will I, or will I not,
I will be this way once again.

A crisis is a defining moment. If one shrinks it is fearsome. If one choses a new path, it is a turning point.
Note: The painting is one of my few abstracts titled “Defining Moment.”