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Features and Information:
First-Person Historical Narratives
Where My Footsteps
Wandered,
by Ralph M. Bell,
Ralyn Press/Heritage Quest Press,
Orting, Washington, 1997.
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Pages 19 -21 (printed
through the kind permission of Jay Bell, son of Ralph M. Bell):
"When Grosspapa Wilhelm, before my memory, brought home from church a sick stranger, the
[Ernst] family tree was mortally wounded. The stranger came only for dinner, but stayed for years. His life was very private, and, unfortunately, none of us younger kids ever met him. One day he left, as unceremoniously as he came. All of our unmarried aunts and uncles, and some cousins, ultimately died, unmarried. The married ones already had left home and started families of their
own--us. All those of that generation still at home were destroyed. With him, the stranger had brought
tuberculosis. It took many years to accomplish it all, but relentlessly it killed one helpless victim after another.
"The drama, now well in progress, was complicated and difficult for even adults to accept. We heard much talk about sanatoria where treatment was available, and there was no doubt that the family faced a critical complication. The ill who stayed at home were problems without solutions. The adult talk was that this one or that was improving, only to have the opinion reversed within weeks. Hemorrhages were frequent events, and blood was always respectfully scary.
"If any of us kids did get to see the sick ones, we remained at a distance, and our visits were duties, uncomfortable experiences. The atmosphere was distinctly one of patience and waiting. It was depressing. Our family epidemic lasted through my childhood and terminated only when the last of the victims was buried.
"While we were young, it seemed to take first those we liked best. We watched, sadly bewildered, as, in turn, death successively claimed each remaining adult of the family. These were the sisters, or brothers, of our parents, truly close relatives. Each grew worse day by day. We observed passively with mounting apprehension and sadness. Even the youngest of us anticipated the approach of death. We had no choice other than to accept events….None of my generation of cousins came down with it, and I recognized no danger to me. But when my mother's youngest brother went to high school in town, he stayed at our house for a time. I dearly loved him and was unaware that he was marked for death. He was quite fond of me and used to talk about life outside of Paso Robles, in the rest of the world, how good it could be. He held me on his lap often.
"Once he said, very seriously, looking squarely into my eyes,
'Listen, Little Buddy, someday you'll go to college. Remember, now, be sure. You must do
that.'
"I did. From that moment on I knew I would go to college, but had no real idea what it was. Some kind of school, I knew. So far, I hadn't seen the inside of any school, but I might after next year. College was where one could learn everything about anything. And it was more achievable than heaven. I couldn't imagine a finer wish fulfillment. So my ideas were vague but resolute. I'd go to college. Whatever it was, I was sure I could do it.
"[My uncle] looked so wonderful to me. I didn't recognize any signs of impending tragedy until just before his death. He stopped going to school and was sent to [the sanitarium at]
Colfax. That, we all knew, opened the last act. And suddenly I understood that I would soon lose him forever, just like the others. From the long list of aunts, uncles, and cousins whose lives were claimed by tuberculosis, his was the youngest life to be forfeited. For me, he was the most painfully missed, also."
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Where My Footsteps Wandered.
***
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