One Hundred Years

Lane at Hattie's grave 2014

Lane Dolly at Hattie’s grave near Fargo, OK 

One Hundred Years. It’s hard to wrap your mind around such a long time. Very few people live to be that old.  But, the other night, I sat open-mouthed in Tulsa, OK listening to a one hundred year old woman play Christmas carols on a restored grand piano of the same vintage.  Everybody else at the recital looked as awed as I felt.

The touching significance of her performance centered my thoughts upon time, life, death, and how much can happen in one hundred years. I pictured the woman pianist as an infant in 1915 and let my thoughts float back through time from there.  If only I could have been alive back then, too.

That year was a time of significance and sorrow in the same state of Oklahoma among members of my own family. A little, rural church in the western part of the state was the setting that spring of 1915 for a gathering in a tight-knit community.  Its citizens, neighbors, and friends had come together to mourn and memorialize my great-great grandmother, Hattie Sheldon Latta.  She was eighty one years old and had actually founded that church and the cemetery nearby that became her final resting place.

Hattie’s amazing life story almost got lost during the century from 1915 to 2015.   But a strong push from an unknown place urged me to discover it anew and make her the heroine and protagonist of a series of books.  To piece together Hattie’s unusual life of travels and trials, to recreate her happiness and hardship, and to discover the extent of her commitment and service, I worked hard.  There was joy and exhaustion as I drove dusty roads and interstate highways on the way to libraries, cemeteries, museums and historical societies from Washington, DC to Oklahoma to Massachusetts to New York State.

As a result, Hattie’s unforgettable achievements became a motivating road map for how to live the second half of my own life. She now serves as a role model in absentia, but is very much alive in my heart and mind.  If I might mirror even half of her depth of character, I would do well.

As the end of 2015 approaches, Hattie is very close to the forefront of my thoughts. When I drive the long trek from eastern to western Oklahoma, I think of her on a particular stretch of road that meanders through a sparsely inhabited place.  In Ellis County, a little green sign, skinny and easy to miss, stands proudly.  I always watch for it. That’s because, by the time I’ve reached that spot, I’ve been driving over two hundred miles and am a bit tired.  That place and the sign have evolved into a reminder, really, to keep going, just as Hattie must have done to live so virtuously for so long.  The sign has one word and an arrow that points south to the hilly top of a ridge.  I know from experience what’s up there because I’ve turned off many times.

The simple sign says “Cemetery.” If you follow the arrow just past the crest of the ridge, there’s a rusty metal gate by the roadside that opens west into a quiet place.  There, I’ve read and reread a host of names carved lovingly into handsome, sturdy stones.  It’s Hattie’s resting place and that of her children, fellow church members, other homesteaders, and beloved friends.  It’s peaceful up there listening to the prevailing southwest breeze rush through the prairie grasses.

I will make that long drive across my home state many times during the rest of my life. And I find encouragement even when I’m hurrying and cannot turn off the main highway to pay my respects. On those busy days, I roll down the car window, speak and wave to acknowledge that that place and Hattie’s life maintain their abiding value. It may have been one hundred years since Hattie’s life on earth ended, but her influence and story are remembered. Rest peacefully, Hattie, and bless you for making my life – and my books about your life – possible.

You: a Witness to History

Why do people read crime thrillers, stories about disasters, or mysteries?   Because they love the thrill of the search, the hair-raising uncertainty of fate, the quest for whodunit and why.  Books like that are plot-driven.  We are absolutely compelled to find out what happens.

Character-driven novels, on the other hand, keep readers engaged through the people.  There’s inner conflict as they grow or regress – and we’re along for the ride.  We keep reading whether the characters are troubled or fulfilled.  Will they win or lose?  Those are the same questions we ask about our own lives.  Stories give us hints about how to live.

In the case of my novel, A Distant Call: The Fateful Choices of Hattie Sheldon, the story is both plot and character-driven.  Here’s why.

I searched in earnest for traces of Hattie Sheldon’s life and found far more than expected.  Those findings kept me digging.  Before long, the dates and details of Hattie’s life drove me to study the places where she had lived, the political backdrop and intrigue of her day, and the people with whom she rubbed elbows.  If I learned a bit of history separate from my book research, I circled back excitedly to learn if Hattie might have been nearby.

Without question, her story opened the door to many particulars of Oklahoma and American history that weren’t covered during my schooling.  Once the facts merged, there Hattie stood beside some of the most memorable or devastating events I could imagine.  Through her, history became real enough to touch.

Heart-breaking disputes and developments from before the Civil War and through Hattie’s lifetime impact us still. The aftermath of Indian removals.  The scourge of slavery.  The growing women’s rights movement.

There was unparalleled disaster among the lovable people who walked where Hattie walked and shared her life. Sometimes, there was triumph, as well. It was not a stretch to conclude that Hattie made hard decisions, kept commitments, valued loyalty, and was an exemplar of endurance.  The lens of history and the letters of people she knew serve as lasting proof of how unusual she was.

I got hooked completely by Hattie’s character, as well as the history.  That’s how my book came to be both plot and character-driven.  There was no choice but to combine all the fascinating elements into a much larger, historically realistic story.  The vivid convergence of turbulent times, never-to-be forgotten places, and intense situations compelled me to turn Hattie’s saga into a book series.  Through it, I want readers from 10 to 110 to feel they are actual witnesses to history.  You won’t believe what happened.

Oh Please, Not Statistics….

Statistics happened to be my least favorite course in college and graduate school.  Class was always dry and seemed to condense life down to cold calculations.  Why did I need to learn something mechanical, lifeless and irrelevant when I didn’t intend to become an engineer or a nuclear physicist?  There seemed little possibility that I would ever use or care about recordsdata or census information.

A few years later, new interests at hand, some intriguing, nearly forgotten family tales came to light: there might be a fascinating story about the life of someone named Hattie Sheldon, who was my great, great grandmother.  Yet, since she lived back in the 19th century, how would I uncover or find her trail from long ago in faraway Utica, NY?

Given the possibility of a link to someone accomplished and memorable, I followed a few weak leads with measured optimism. To my great surprise, I discovered more than anticipated.  And even though some finds were just census records, Miss Hattie Sheldon suddenly became real. The hunt was on!

To gain a full picture of her life, however, I needed to find her parents and grandparents. I learned quickly that birth and death dates are the keys that unlock mysteries in genealogy.  Without them, I could mix my ancestors up with somebody else’s by the same name.  It happens frequently. So I scoured what seemed like the entire internet, but still lacked dates. It felt like I had hit a brick wall.

Before giving up completely, I packed my car and drove to Utica, NY, where I visited the Oneida County Historical Society.  Poring through old city directories and books of pioneer biographies, I found only a couple of clues. But they were good ones. Hattie’s father had built a long-standing, reputable business that crafted custom harnesses, trunks and bags.  His address was right in the city record, so I was also able to drive down the very street where the family had lived.  Yet I still lacked the full gamut of information that only obituaries reveal.  And I couldn’t find obituaries without death dates.

A seasoned researcher from Utica began to help me.  We sat together at a long table and talked about where to turn next and what to do.  A few feet away, a man reading quietly looked up and began to listen. “Have you called Forest Hill Cemetery,” he interrupted.  “You ought to call Gerry up there because they don’t publish data.”

Within thirty minutes, Gerald Waterman, a kind man standing under the most impressive Gothic arch I’d ever seen, met me at the gate of Forest Hill Cemetery. Effortlessly, he produced a huge book full of meticulous records about generations of my family who rested eternally up on the hill. Gerry took me to my ancestors’ graves on that sunny, summer day.  There, carved into massive granite stones, I found exact dates and whole names for an entire family of unique individuals who lived and loved before my time.

I recorded those names and dates, then took them to the library, where they guided me to newspaper articles from the past. Suddenly, unfolding before me were tidbits about intriguing, productive people. My research yielded facts that I combined with census data to trace their progress through the years, to envision their moves as business improved, and to mourn the way they died. How enterprising and patriotic they had been!

Now, I truly know about my ancestors and their stories. Without the help of statistics like death dates, I would never, ever have been able to picture them in full color.  So, after many years, I buried the hatchet and made peace with statistics.  It’s amazing what I’ve found since.

Writing: Making Discoveries in the Desert

Writing, like life, is tempered by the ebb and flow of circumstances, the ups and downs of our humanity.  It’s wonderful when many ideas flood my computer screen.  Perhaps somebody shares details about her day and I use one element of that to further my plot.  One time, in order to finish a chapter, I borrowed the punch line from a friend’s joke. It became the perfect conclusion to a conversation between two characters.

Occasionally, however, creative drought either withers the root of an idea or leaves me blank.  There have been times when I couldn’t conjure a clear image of a person I needed to describe. Instead of just sitting there, I stopped writing and turned back to research.  There’s no way to underestimate the richness of digging into original sources when I’m stuck.  By reading letters between long departed members of my extended family, the people came back to life.  Their situation, mood, priorities and hopes suddenly brought color to an otherwise monochromatic understanding of their pioneer lives.  Inevitably, after turning to original sources for inspiration, I came across something that caught my attention and added a new layer of depth to my pursuit.  Soon, I was back on track and my work flowed again.

It’s not just the moments of enlightenment, however, that contribute to good writing.  There’s also great value in information I do NOT find.   By comparing what’s NOT there against my expectations, I can draw truly useful conclusions. Let’s say the historical character I’m writing about lived at a given place, but I don’t exactly know when.  If a dated report or census fails to list him, that tell me something valuable.  Maybe I still don’t know when he DID live there, but I definitely know when he did NOT!  Coupled with other findings, this fact can help me form a timeline for someone in the distant past.

That’s how writing is like life.  By realizing I can learn from both the missing and the evident, the desert and the oasis, I’ve not been deterred, sidelined or tempted to give up.

Women Couldn’t Do What???

Not so long ago, women in America weren’t allowed to attend college and couldn’t lead a public meeting. In the past, when women in America got divorced, custody of their children was always awarded to the ex-husband.  In my book A Distant Call: The Fateful Choices of Hattie Sheldon, several groundbreaking women led the charge against such unjust limitations and became Hattie’s role models. Their achievements deserve recognition during Women’s History Month because they paved the way to a better tomorrow for you and me.

Lucretia Mott, a teacher raised with Quaker values, promoted women’s rights because male teachers were paid three times her salary.  An anti-slavery crusader, she also refused to use any products produced through slave labor. Abolition work introduced her to Elizabeth Cady Stanton, with whom she planned the Seneca Falls women’s rights convention in 1848.  The first public meeting of its kind in America, it addressed women’s lack of property rights and job options.

When Hattie Sheldon – who was my great, great grandmother – graduated from Utica Female Academy, she was given an autographed copy of the anti-slavery novel, Uncle Tom’s Cabin, by Harriet Beecher Stowe. Driven to write and expose the truth about slavery, Stowe’s graphic and compelling words made her an international celebrity.  Her book was a masterpiece that’s credited even today – over 160 years later – as iconic in its influence on American history.

Catherine Beecher, an older sister of Harriet Beecher Stowe, was an education pioneer who founded a prominent school called Hartford Female Seminary.  She urged young women to tackle academics instead of just the arts.  In my book, Beecher’s school is featured when Hattie’s beloved friend, Margaret, moved with her family from Utica, NY to Hartford, CT. 

I want to thank these role models. Their hard-fought battles in America brought improvements during Hattie’s era and paved the way for advances during my life, as well.  Now let’s tackle the needs of oppressed women throughout the world.

Has Anyone Inspired You Lately?

Can you put a name to the last person who really got behind your busy, public veneer? Maybe that person made a comment or asked you a simple question that stopped you in your tracks.  Everyone needs moments of clarity when we have to soul search and reach farther than our pre-packaged, quick answers.

That’s what happened to me.  It only took one, key historical breakthrough to get me hooked on researching Hattie Sheldon’s life. At the Houghton Library at Harvard, a letter in her handwriting suddenly stared me in the face.  We might be separated by time, but she became real! And even though only a genetic thread connected us, I knew her inspiring life had lessons to teach me. 

Each subsequent discovery about Hattie’s work and values added the colors of love and commitment to her old black and white photo. Most surprising was that each finding posed actual questions – from her to me.  What principle is the essence of your character?  Hattie’s true story handed me opportunities to improve the way I lived, thought, and felt. 

 Are you making the best use of your gifts and your time?

Now that I have Hattie’s powerful standard for comparison, I’m going to work on that. I’m trying, Hattie.  I’m trying.