Jimbob's
Journal
Germantown by Jim Harris
First printed in E. D. Herb, Health and Harmony , July,
2000
Germantown, Pennsylvania was carved out of the forest in 1690
by adventurous pilgrims following an ancient Indian trail out
from Philadelphia. In 1790, most of the simple huts had given
way to fine stone colonials. It was still predominantly German
but there were now a few English and free Blacks. 1890 saw incorporation
by the burgeoning city of Philadelphia and the addition of Victorian
mansions along with Irish and Italian immigrants. Today, new arrivals
from Asia and the West Indies have further enriched the polyglot
of races and cultures. The architecture is equally diverse, old
and new, large and small, side by side.
I managed to live in Germantown
for forty years without knowing any of this information. I pretty
much kept my head down as I went about my daily duties. Still,
there was one old gray building that always piqued my interest.
Tucked away on a lonely stretch of that old Indian trail, it had
a small wooden shingle that said, "Germantown Historical
Society". Now, to me, history was a collection of dates on
which epic events transpired, certainly not anything that affected
my little province. "What could they possibly have in there?",
I thought. I tried peeking in the window, to no avail.
I have always been intimidated
by academia. Back when I went to school (the stone age), that's
the way they wanted it, so it was no easy feat for me to screw
up my courage and cross that dusty threshold. I half expected
some stuffy museum-type to ask me what I was doing there and snicker
at my appalling lack of sophistication. Instead, I found friendly,
charming people who showed me around and inquired as to my own
history in the area The real treat, however, was their collection
of what they call "primary sources" - letters, scrapbooks,
photographs, newspaper clippings, and much more, all one-of-a-kind,
and donated by the families, individuals, or groups that created
them.
One turn of the century (1900)
gentleman had put together a 9-volume set of scrapbooks devoted
to a local park. I felt a strange and immediate sense of kinship
as I gently touched the fragile words and pictures so lovingly
placed on the pages. I saw pictures of sites, like my old swimming
hole, that I recognized, and read accounts of little adventures
in locations that I knew very well. I felt that he had really
captured the spirit of this place that meant so much to me. I
suddenly realized that the lives of everyday people were every
bit as fascinating as those of epic figures, even more so in a
historical sense, since they are so affected by the prevailing
conventions of the day.
I can only say that this experience
has made me feel different about the world and my place in it.
I am no longer peeking in the window. I feel a part rather than
apart, and that's the key to living in harmony.
Consider creating your own documents
of time and place. You could focus on one aspect of your life
(your house, your church, your hobbies, etc.), or make it more
wide-ranging. At the very least, it will become a cherished family
heirloom, and it just might send someone at the turn of the next
century a simple but powerful message - there's no place like
home.
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