With the infiltration of the computerized age, photos are seldom being printed, people are storing many of their necessary tracking data on external devices, and more and more we communicate via texting, emailing, etc., instead of in person. Because of this, it seems that family stories are getting lost. Many of us don’t just chat much anymore. The time we have when we are not at work, we text messages, email quick notes, send on the latest forwards, "chat" on our favorite social media platforms, watch shows, or play video games, which makes us overly stimulated and too busy to take the time to just talk; to tell the stories our parents and grandparents told us – or our own stories. They are being lost. This is one such tale, that I’m passing on to you.
The man this event happened to was William (Bill) Ferguson, my late father-in-law. Bill lived a full, wonderful life. He loved his wife, Betty, and their children. He worked long hours, yet still managed the time to be civic minded and also to have fun. Among many things, including serving in WWII, he was an Elk, a county commissioner, and acted in various Ramsdell plays, including “Dracula” in which he played the lead. Bill was a friendly guy with a great sense of humor who could rattle off any number of Irish limericks by heart – some of them a little colorful.
Bill, like his father before him, was a train engineer. The kind of engineer that drove the trains, not designed them. For many years, Bill worked seven days a week, twelve hours a day. There is a great picture of Bill and his dad standing in front of one of the huge engines. (Read my blog: Barreling Down Tracks for more on their experiences or to see the picture.) In the picture you see that Bill was a lot taller than his father. In fact, for the times, Bill was quite tall – a whopping 6’4”. Tall indeed, unless you compared him to the tallest man on record who frequented Manistee: Robert Wadlow*. One Fourth of July when Bill was in his early twenties, Robert Wadlow was asked to be in the parade. At the end of the parade, the parade officials had Mr. Wadlow sit in the backend of a pick-up truck with a dollar bill on his head. The correct denomination of the bill has been forgotten – which just goes to show how we are losing the old stories – but the consensus of his children is that it was a five- or ten-dollar bill. It was a contest to see who was tall enough to reach up and take the bill off of Robert Wadlow’s head while he sat in the truck. You have probably guessed that it was Bill who was able to reach the distance and grab the bill. The prize? The bill itself. Which, in those days, was worth substantially more. To me, the second prize would have been meeting the man himself who, it seems, was a humble, pleasant man – a giant of a man with a good heart.
We still smile when we imagine Bill’s big grin as he took hold of that dollar bill. It is a bit of the treasure of memories we have of him – one of many, for he was a great storyteller. I will never forget the day he lay in a hospital bed telling us a rather interesting story about his railroad days, when he suddenly stopped talking. We had to prompt him to finish the story, and when he responded, “I don’t remember”, I knew we’d lost his amazing memory for detail.
You can’t buy these family memories at a bookstore or dig them up online. They have to be told by the last generations – and have to be heard by the next generation. Tell your children the stories of your life and your parents’ lives. If they won't stick around and listen, write them down. The day will come when our loved ones – or we – are lying on a hospital bed speaking the last bits of their earthly breath by blessing those around them with the memories of their lives – we can only hope we have that time if we haven’t taken the time to stop and listen before it comes to that.
So much is lost with each generation, especially with the loads of information that our brains have to take in these days. Make the effort to keep some of your favorite stories in your family – and listen when people are willing to share theirs. Life is changing so fast; it would be a shame to forget the treasures of our pasts.
*Robert Pershing Wadlow was born in Alton, Illinois, in 1918. By the of age 8, he was taller than his father. He suffered from a disorder called Acromegaly, which is usually caused by the pituitary gland producing excess growth hormone after the growth plates have closed. There are a number of negative conditions from Acromegaly, some of which afflicted Robert. He needed leg braces when walking, and he had little feeling in his legs and feet, although he never had to use a wheelchair. He became a celebrity after touring with the Ringling Brothers Circus in 1936, but he was never a sideshow and always dressed in his everyday clothes. In 1938, he began a promotional tour with the International Shoe Company as a sale advertiser. The company provided him shoes free of charge. He was incredibly strong until the last few days of his short 22-year life. During a professional appearance at the Manistee National Forest Festival on July 4, 1940, his ankle was irritated by a faulty brace, which lead to an infection. He was given a blood transfusion and was operated on, but it worsened because of an autoimmune disorder. He died in his sleep 11 days later on July 15. Eighteen days before his death, he was measured by doctors at 8 ft 11.1 inches. He still carries the title of the tallest person in recorded history. To my knowledge, one of his shoes still resides at Snyder’s Shoe Store in Manistee. I vaguely remember the wonder of the size of it the first time I saw it, not knowing at the time of the malady that caused him pain and an early death.
A granddaughter standing next to Robert's statue.
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