Category: Flash Fiction

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Education Flash Fiction parenting Postcards Vintage writing Writing Prompt

Waning Summer Days: Suzie Radley’s 1909 Letter

From: Suzie A. Radley To: Mrs. E.G. Richardson, 1909

Adams, MA. Sept. ’09

This is your birthday. Many returns of the same. Went up this road awhile of weeks ago with Nathan Dickinsons daughter Ruth (17) and son Boyd (13) in a cart with four horses. Such a long winding road in the woods and such a magnificent view from the summit as well as many on the way. William comes in a week. I am not very much better but some.

Yours,

Suzie A. Radley

In September of 1909, news reached the world that both Dr. Frederick Cook and Admiral Peary had reached the North Pole, the United States passed a law that allowed postal workers to skip houses with aggressive dogs, and union members were locked out of their jobs at the Triangle Shirtwaist Company.

It was also E’s birthday. How old she was, or what her first name was, I don’t know. I wasn’t able to find her easily in the records. However, we know that Suzie was thinking of her, which I think is sweet.

On my hunt for information to bring to this post, I really ran into a wall. I couldn’t find a Suzie or Susan or Susanna Radley, I couldn’t find E, I couldn’t even find Nathan, Ruth, or Boyd Dickinson. Usually I can find something, but alas, no luck for me.

Although I don’t have biographical information for our main characters in the post-card, the card itself provides quite a bit of personal and life information. As you can see, the writing was on the front of the postcard, not the back. Again, we have an instance of a transition period postcard. It was legal to split the back, but for whatever reason Suzie didn’t use a divided back card.

Because the photo is so small and because Suzie didn’t have to contend with a divided back, we get a lot of details that we can use to infer other information. The fact that she went on a carriage ride through the woods with a 17 and 13 year old tells us she’s probably somewhere between 15-19. I’d guess she’s closer to Ruth’s age — since that’s who she named first.

The ride through the woods probably took place in the waning days of August. The idea of it is lovely. A warm ride through a shaded wood with the crisp scent of fall on the horizon. Perhaps a bag full of bread and apples, and the joyous chatter of fellow teens to keep you company and a “magnificent” view at the end. What a great way to spend the last bright days of summer.

We also know that Suzie was expecting William. I am guessing he’s a brother or cousin, though I couldn’t find him either. My questions linger on the relationship between E and Suzie. Were they friends, cousins, or sisters? Was Suzie visiting Adams for the summer months, or did she live there? It’s the personal histories that fascinate me. The everyday lives of ordinary people that simply tried to do their best with what they had — it’s heroic. I wish I was able to find more.

But I’ll still bask in the thought of Suzie’s perfect summer day, and hope that E’s birthday brought her much joy and happiness.

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Current Events Education Flash Fiction History Photographs Poems Poetry Postcards Vintage writing

Flashback Friday: 1942 Blackouts and Forging Friendships Through Postcards

From: Mary E. Wood, To: Mrs. Ethyl Beranek 1942

4/27/42

Hello.

Roanoke is preparing for blackouts and everyone is cooperating well. Thanks for the card. Do you have L.L. Iowa or other cities? I’d like a card of each scene as shown in little’s CEDAR RAPIDS. Thanks and write soon.

Sincerely,

Mary E. Wood

422 Albemarle Ave S.W.

Roanoke, Virginia

Have you any foreign correspondents?

By the time Mary wrote this letter, the United States had newly entered World War II. A few months earlier, in February, a Japanese submarine had attacked an oil refinery in Santa Barbara, California. Though the attack didn’t cause much damage, fears and tensions in the United States were high. Shortly after the attack on California, FDR signed Executive Order 9066 which led to the internment of 125,000 people, two thirds of which were American Citizens.

In April, the country was already well on its way to mobilizing for war. In preparation, many cities — including Roanoke — were practicing blackouts. The city had practiced at least two blackouts by the time Mary sent her letter to Ethyl. Families bought blackout curtains for their windows and hoods for their headlights. At some point during the blackout, air raid sirens blared and people extinguished lights, pulled over and listened for the test to be over.

The fear of invasion is a type of fear I hope I never have to experience, and to see it documented in this letter is so interesting. Mary expresses prepping for an invasion first, which tells me it was probably at the top of her mind.

However, the wartime blackout conditions are juxtaposed by Mary’s request for different types of postcards. It almost seems like she’s part of some sort of post crossing program before post crossing existed! Or, as we elder millennials remember it as: pen pals. I do wonder if Mary personally knew Ethyl and the two of them were simply card collectors, or if it was a type of pen pal program. Very interesting.

As for Mary Wood, I think I found her. She was born as Mary Ellen Thurston, but her first husband had the last name Wood. She later divorced and remarried, becoming Mary Ellen Truslow. What’s strange is that I found her second marriage certificate, which listed her birthday year as 1927, but her grave and all other documentation lists 1921.

As for Ethyl, funnily enough the first thing that popped up when I searched was another postcard to her. Same address, though a different sender. Wouldn’t that have been the bee’s knees? After a little more digging on Family Search, I managed to ascertain that she probably passed away shortly after World War II — 1953 to be exact.

The obituary states that she had suffered from an “illness for the past year.” Two of her sons died shortly after, one in 1955 and another in 1958. An overall sad end to an interesting postcard.

I hope that the two women remained in correspondence until Ethyl’s untimely death. Perhaps this small blog post can help keep the memory of their connection alive.

Front of Postcard. One of a few Natural Bridge postcards that I own

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Climate Education Flash Fiction History Photographs Poems Poetry Postcards Teaching Vintage writing Writing Prompt

Mysteries from the Boardwalk: A 1915 Postcard from Atlantic City

To: Miss Annie Earl. From: AS(?) 1915

I wish I could send you more than a (unreadable)

In 1915, Woodrow Wilson was president, the United States began it’s occupation of Haiti, the Lusitania was sunk by a German U-Boat, and the United States recognized the new Mexican Government as a de-facto government.

This is one of the few cards I have that’s from a true resort town, and I love the vibes of it all. By 1915, Atlantic City was already a destination city, bringing in over 500,000 people by rail every year. At this time, the boardwalk was over 7 miles long, and an array of large hotels sprawled along the ocean, some capable of holding up to 2,000 guests. I have to assume that the sender of this card was in Atlantic City on vacation, though, of course, they could have been a seasonal worker.

As beautiful as the card is, it’s a tad frustrating because there’s simply not much information. The last word is illegible (for me), and even the sender’s signature is nothing more than scrawled initials. I do have the name “Annie Earl”, but even that led to a dead end. There were many, many, Ann’s, Anna’s, and Annie’s that fit the time frame — and while I have a suspicion of which one or two might be correct, I don’t feel confident enough to write about them. So, I’ll leave you with some theories.

My first guess is that this is one of two types of card. Either, from one sibling to another, or from one friend to another (with a possible romantic entanglement since that’s how I role). My gut feeling tells me this is probably an older sibling writing to a younger one. Maybe they were working in Atlantic City but couldn’t send money, or maybe they simply didn’t have enough time to send a full letter.

My less prominent theory — but perhaps more fun one — is that this is a beau writing to his girl. Maybe he was down on his luck and had gone to Atlantic City to earn some dough and that didn’t go through. Maybe he wanted to get enough money to marry. I genuinely don’t think this is the case, but since I’m left with little information, it’s fun to think about the possibilities.

Either way, it’s a beautiful card with elegant and sweeping handwriting. It feels like there’s a cool breeze drifting in from the ocean, and I envision the sender quickly writing out the letter on the boardwalk, squinting their eyes against the sun. What a lovely memorial to a July day.

“Scene at the Inlet”

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Education Flash Fiction History parenting Photographs Postcards Vintage Work In Progress writing Writing Prompt

Unanswered Letters: A 1914 Postcard and Ruth Kenison’s “Secret” Marriage

To: Miss Ruth Kenison, From: F.R. La Barre 1914

Am on my way to Winona Minn. to see my kid brother.

F.R. La Barre

In 1914, Woodrow Wilson was president, the Ford Motor Company instituted the 8 hour shift and $5 per day wage, Babe Ruth made his major league debut with the Boston Red Sox, and World War I began in Europe. Great social upheavals pervaded the world.

In 1914, Winona, Minnesota was a decent sized town that grew up due to the steam boat and railroad industry. As of 2020, there were 25,000 people living. Dubuque, Iowa is an even larger town, and what’s fun is Julien Dubuque’s Grave really looks a lot like the image on the postcard. I assume our friend F.R. traveled through Dubuque on his way to Iowa. Though what’s interesting is that the postcard was addressed to San Diego…quite a long way from where he was.

As for Ruth, I think I found her. I found a Ruth Kenison living in San Diego in 1914, but here’s the kicker…she lived in Iowa as a child. In fact, she was there in 1910 at the age of 14! This is the type of connection that really clinches an identification for me. By the census of 1920, Ruth’s parents were living in San Diego, California. So, I have to assume that at some point between 1910 and 1914, the family made the move west. F.R. easily could have been a childhood friend sending a quick note because they thought of Ruth.

What I did find interesting is that in June of 1914, Ruth Belle Kenison married Hugh Adams Haffley in San Diego. She was 18 at the time. This postcard was mailed in August, but still used the title “Miss”, so it makes me think that F.R. wasn’t aware of the marriage. She was awfully young, even for the early 1900’s, and I have to wonder…was it a secret marriage? Was it rushed? or was it simply kids making choices?

Ruth ended up on Coronado — a “tied island” in San Diego County. You may know it from the beach scenes in Top Gun, but it was initially settled specifically for tourism. It’s known for sparkling beaches and the Hotel Del Coronado. She marBy 1929 Ruth lived in Oklahoma, but she moved back to California by way of Sacramento. Born August 2, 1895, she died on Christmas day in 1971 at the age of 76. I have to wonder what she did in Coronado. Was she a worker, or did her husband have money and own land out there? I wish I could find more information.

As for F.R…as so often happens, without a full first name, I wasn’t able to find them. I feel like it was probably a man, based on handwriting alone. But just because I think everything revolves around love, doesn’t mean that it does. This could be a cousin or family friend. Either way, what’s clear is that F.R did not know about Ruth’s marriage. I hope the message found Ruth, and she was able to write back to F.R.

Front of Postcard: “The Monument at Julien Dubuque’s Grave”

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Flash Fiction parenting Poems Poetry writing

Forgetting

I fear the forgetting as much as being forgotten

Memories that slip away, intangible as a morning mist.

Faces that drift in and out with names that evade me.

And so, dear child. I write the most mundane things.

Your mercurial moods. Your sunshining smiles. Your stomachaches and heartbreaks.

That is how you’ll know I love you.

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Flash Fiction Poems Poetry

Cousins

Did you know, little one, that in the bright cusp of summer, when the sun was low but the grass still warm, your mother communed with fairies?

She drank tea from snapdragon cups while the fairies spun her hair into a gold plaited crown before she sat on her ivy throne and held court with the snails and ladybugs.

Your mother whispered to the butterflies, so the fairies turned her eyes into stars and her lips into the moon — because only the night sky can tell secrets to the insects that sleep on roses.

And dear one, on slow August nights when the wind slips across your skin like thick velvet and the sun is yawning low in the sky, you can still hear the song she taught the crickets.

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Flash Fiction Poems writing

Withered

In my memories you exist like

the sharp scent of an overblown rose

and the sting of thorns.

You tamed the tangled garden of my soul

but plucked

my buds

one

by

one.

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Flash Fiction Poems writing

Deja Vu

Our lives are written on a thousand slips of paper jostled and drowned in the foaming waves of a tempest. We float on the bubbles, too light and insignificant to notice the storm underneath. But sometimes, when we sleep, our fingers grasp the inky depths of the future.

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Flash Fiction Poems Writing Prompt

Past

Daily writing prompt
Do you spend more time thinking about the future or the past? Why?
View all responses

It’s early summer and I thumb through an old diary peppered with half faded photographs whose memories are expiring like soured milk.

With her hair curled and her dress perfectly pressed, my grandma smiles out from one of pictures. A lopsided farmhouse imposes on the background. They said I looked like her, but I don’t see it. Her neck is long and her lips full, while both those things are scrawny on me.

But her Y’s look like mine, and her heart yearns for something she can never define. It’s like we both lost something along this journey, and have spent lifetimes searching for it.

To a historian, the past informs the present and serves as a prediction for the future. For a grand-daughter, the past is carried with us. It lives in our hair and our skin, in our smiles and our longings. We are the tellers of history and keepers of memories. We prevent the flame from flickering into smoke.

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Flash Fiction Poems Poetry writing

Melancholia

My phone buzzes with a volley of text messages that light the darkened room with a harsh glow.

Angry, stubborn, brutal words paint the screen, each jockeying for precedence against each other. Sharp consonants and long vowels that extend innocuous words into a written curse.

They settle into my heart like a thousand cuts. Alone, they’d be a simple bruise that heals overnight. Together they leave leather scars amongst the other ties that bind me together.

And still, the phone buzzes.