Walking In Their Footsteps

Letters--From the Past and to the Future

It occurred to me this morning that the recent snow storms in the East would have appeared in Papa Doran's cash journal as footnotes with, perhaps, the unusual amounts of snow noted but no descriptive comment.

A recipe written on the back of a brief note written by my grandmother during my nomadic years of the early 1970s, Papa's comments of weather, deaths, and daily news; and, certainly, my father's iconic 1950s images are reminders that each life between the birth and death dates on a tombstone was full and worth honoring.

And so, in the digital age, I write.  I write because I have wished for forty years to find an ancestor's handwritten journal and have finally realized that the journal I seek is in the notes at the bottom of a page in a cash book, a the list tucked into a book, or the yearly note and cards from a woman in Ireland distantly related to my grandparents.  I write, I hope, for a young person in the future, who, like me, needed to know the people from the past.

Lastly, I write for myself as I yearn to document the daily life of my world and the people in it (especially those I love), the beauty of this planet that leaves me awestruck, and to honor those who came before.

 

Musings

I don’t live in the place where I was born and, still, years later I miss the place where I grew up. I miss the seasons, extended family, and sites that trigger memories of my growing years.
I have no wish to return there to live; however as the holidays approach, I find myself yearning for the sight of vividly colored leaves and the sound of gently falling snow.
It’s just shy of 50 years that I’ve been away from the place that I was born, spent my childhood and grew to young adult. It lives within my heart as clear and alive as though it were 1964.

 

The House at 43 Pleasant Street

From its attic with cubby-hole storage areas and oddly shaped rooms to the cellar’s uneven clay floor and musty atmosphere, the timbers and walls of the house at 43 Pleasant Street are a repository for the family stories and events of five generations of Doran-Brosnan family members.
Built by George A. Hunting, treasurer of the Lawrence Knitting Company, the large Victorian duplex fell victim to a decline in the Hunting family fortunes and went on the auction block in April 1931.
John W. Doran, Sr., postmaster of Methuen, Massachusetts, and his wife, Mary Brosnan Doran, purchased the house from the Methuen National Bank, the mortgage holder. They moved in with their children, Kathleen (21), John (17), and Betty (14). 
The births of grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and, more recently, great-great grandchildren have been celebrated here as well as the 50th and 60th wedding anniversaries of John and Mary; and, their son, John and his wife, Eileen Fitzpatrick Doran. There have been countless birthday parties and holiday celebrations in its dining room as well as Christmas trees and wakes in its living room. 
It is the small moments of life; however, that are most attached to a heart. Here my Nana sewed a delicate batiste dress exquisitely appliquéd with butterflies that I wore in a formal portrait to celebrate my first year. Here my Papa tended his mulch pile with massive sunflowers growing around its edges. Here Saturday morning in Nana’s kitchen meant fresh donut holes and Sunday afternoon meant a nap in Aunt Betty’s bed. Here the attics were mysterious and wonderful places and the cellar storage rooms contained the bounty of my grandmother’s canning skills. We came to stand on its wide staircase for dress and coat fittings, show off prom dresses and Easter bonnets. Here I watched the undisguised joy in my grandmother’s face when I brought her first great-grandchild, Christopher, to visit. Here I spent time with my aunts in their final days and saw in that time my own future-- growing older and frail. 
The rituals of daily living imbue a house with a presence over time and so it is was with the house at 43 Pleasant Street. Selling it this last year was heart wrenching. 
It will remain an icon for my family-- a tangible symbol of the fabric of our lives.

Cheryl Doran Girard ©2004/Rev. January 2009

John W. Doran, Sr., 1932

John W. Doran, Sr., 1932
Originally uploaded by cheryldoran-girard

John William Doran, Sr.
Born: January 22, 1881,  Died: January 15, 1986

Johnnie Doran was the youngest son of Irish immigrants, Patrick Doran and Catherine Lynch Doran. Born in Methuen, Massachusetts on January 22 1881, photographs of him as a child portray a serious child staring directly at the camera. His high school notebooks disclose political cartoons of sophistication and talent, he collected Indian arrowheads and wrote essays extolling the virtues of the town’s benefactor, Edward Searles, who gifted Methuen with the Searles Building that now houses the city’s offices. Johnnie was the first of his family to graduate from high school and his mother had high hopes that he would become a pharmacist; however, shortly after his graduation from Methuen High School in 1899, he became employed as a clerk with the Methuen post office.
Whether pictured in overcoat and bowler with a group of young men in Washington in 1903 or as an older man in dapper hat and well-fitted suit, he was downright handsome. In 1906 he was promoted to postal supervisor for Methuen. His popularity is evident from the large number of congratulatory letters he received lauding his fitness for the new post including one from his Pennsylvania cousin, Mary Lynch admonishing him to remain single as his brothers and sisters had.
It is no wonder that Mayme Brosnan set her cap for him. Handsome and employed in a stable, well-paying government position he was quite a catch for the orphaned daughter of Irish immigrants. Family photographs subsequent to their 1909 marriage, show a merry prankster chuckling and ducking behind his wife’s dress.
Over the years, he grew increasingly introspective. His interests encompassed reading historical texts on a variety of events and the Civil War in particular. He was especially devoted to his birthplace collecting texts about its history and newspaper clippings relative to events and historical buildings. After retirement from the postal service in 1951, he became a devoted back-yard gardener and recorded daily personal events as brief notes at the bottom of pages in his monthly cash journal.
Family friend say his personality and sense of humor became more evident after Mayme’s death in 1978.
His long life came to an end five days short of his 105th birthday in January 1986. His quiet presence still pervades his home at 43 Pleasant Street.