Hello friends,
A few days ago I was walking by an excavator parked in a row of heavy equipment being used to rebuild water and sewer lines in my neighborhood. From the sidewalk, I saw a white note tucked into the operator’s door. On the note, I could see the black-and-white image of a young woman standing confidently, arms akimbo.
If you’ve ever bent to retrieve and read a stranger’s abandoned grocery list fluttering in a parking lot, you understand my curiosity. There can be poetry in other people’s utilitarian scraps of writing. And mean-spirited notes can be amusing, too, for what they say about the character of those so mad they have to write up their rant and afix it to a stranger’s car.
At first I thought maybe the note was from a neighbor complaining about the construction noise or how the excavator was taking up valuable parking, but the image of the flapper-era woman on the front of it threw me for a loop.
It also occurred to me that maybe someone in the neighborhood might have a crush on the operator of the excavator. Maybe they’re cute, and maybe this was a note to ask them out? Why would I imagine that, you ask? Well, once in my single days I chatted with an economist in a neighborhood bar in D.C. who mentioned he parked his motorcycle near the secret street stairs that led to my apartment. I thought there was the tiniest bit of a connection? So the next day, I left a note with my phone number on his motorcycle suggesting we hang out sometime. It took him a few days; he didn’t ride the motorcycle often and didn’t see the note. But when he did find it, he promptly texted saying he was flattered—and taken.
All this went through my nosy reporter’s mind as I decided to snoop on the note on the excavator. I got close enough to read the writing and peek inside. Here’s what it said on the front:
“Evelyn Hood visiting Herman Duke, her future husband. c 1927. He was working on the water systems next to the Columbia River in Washington. Her dress
iswas red.”
Evelyn is such a cutie! Her chic haircut, the sly grin, the red dress! And her willingness to clamber up on the big water pipes and pose for a pic. You can see in her eyes her affection for the person behind the camera. And you can see in the camera’s gaze that its operator felt the same. (Shhhh…don’t tell them the Great Recession is around the corner. Let them be young and in love for a moment, just like in this picture.)
I flipped the note open to read the handwritten note inside.
6 July 2023
Hello! Almost 100 years ago my grandad did work similar to the work you are doing today.
Your work will last for many generations and benefit many families. Take a picture so future generations will know what you did for the city. :)
Your labor matters.
With gratitude -
Jessica Duke
Obviously I had to find Jessica, descendent of Evelyn and Herman. I tracked her down on Facebook to find out what inspired her note.
She told me in an email that she lives near the construction and was inspired to share with the crew the picture of her grandmother because she knows “their work is important and that many generations will benefit from their labor.”
The work they were doing reminded me of similar work my granddad did on the banks of the Columbia in Washington State. In the late 1920s, he worked on crews putting in giant water system pipes. My grandma would visit him on the site. And clearly, she was brave enough to climb up to the top of giant pipes. Though the picture is in black and white, I was always told my grandma’s dress was red.
And Jessica confirmed the love story—and my suspicions that the Great Depression would soon touch the lives of her grandparents.
I always admired my grandparents love for each other. I loved my grandma’s feisty nature (I think this picture proves that) and my granddad’s willingness to try any job. During the Great Depression (after this picture was taken) my granddad had a string of jobs as stable employment was hard to find. If he didn’t know how to do a job, he would go to the library and research the job so he wouldn’t be totally clueless the first day. He said because he knew how to read, he could figure things out -which gave him a leg up on those who didn’t know how to read.
Finally, Jessica said that she likes thinking of the contributions of the people who may go unsung, but who are responsible for so much of the infrastructure of what we take for granted in a city.
History remembers the thinkers, the scientists, the writers, the composers. I like to look at public works and see the value in the work - knowing it will help many. My granddad’s name isn’t in any history book. But he made things. And he had a devoted partner. I doubt that any of the crew working on Elliott Avenue will be in history books either. But their work serves many. And so I thanked them.
This is just such a lovely way to walk around the world, thinking about those who made it and how it benefits us all now and in the future. And it was so generous for Jessica to agree to share this with all of you!
I hope, like me, that you’re imagining young Evelyn enjoying a beautiful summer day with her beau as they captured a moment of joy in their young lives.
Yours,
Erika
THE NEWS
All the links, all the updates…
For further reading. The story of Evelyn and Herman reminds me a bit of In the Skin of the Lion, a 1987 novel by Michael Ondaatje, which has a wide-ranging plot that fictionalizes the lives of immigrants who built massive public works projects in Toronto in the 1920s and 30s. I have never forgotten a line in this book about a dog’s paws smelling “of all the paths the animal had taken during the day.” Some of the novel’s characters reappear as older versions of themselves in The English Patient.
“Likely searching for snacks.” For those of you familiar with Cannon Beach in Oregon: have you seen Andy Woo’s photos of the cougar on Haystack Rock?!
Stop trying to have the perfect vacation. I’m a big fan of lingering in off-the-beaten path places for awhile. Like obscure National Forest campgrounds and third-tier cities. Which is why this newsletter was sent to you from somewhere near Dinosaur National Monument and not Arches National Park.
Hi Erika your Boise fan here! I loved this story so much. I love letters and letter writing. When my great uncle died years ago we found some old letters he wrote during WW2 to his fiance and even a very moving letter he wrote about a soldier friend. Hope you are doing well and I really enjoy your posts.
Delightful! Your reporters eye is as keen as ever.