That’s the case with the one below. In 1944, a young man, away from home, writes a short note to his mother. Being unemployed, he wants to save money, so he chooses to write on the back of a postcard as opposed to a letter, because it cost only 1¢ to mail, instead of the 3¢ it would’ve cost to mail a letter. He warns her that he may need to borrow some money from her, but he promises to help out once he gets a job. He also tries to relieve any anxiety she may have on his behalf by assuring her that he hasn’t suffered from asthma yet and that the people are nice.
I found this postcard at an antique shop today, and it left me wanting to know whatever became of Fred? Did he find a job? Was he able to follow through and help out his mother? Why did he address his mother as Miss instead of Mrs? Why does she have a different last name than him? Were either still alive? What does the house look like that she lived in?
Believe it or not, even with all of today’s technology at my hands, all I was able to find out was that the house is no longer standing. It used to be located next to the Ben Franklin Bridge in Camden, NJ, but all that’s there now is a field with a tennis court, which I believe to be part of the Rutgers University campus. I even tried searching on Ancestry.com, but got nowhere. There wasn’t even a WWII Draft Registration Card under his name, or what I thought to be his last name.
So, I’m left, as I so often am with these postcards, with a mystery, my curiosity not satisfied. But such is life. Rare is it that we ever truly get to know everything about a person in our lives, let alone a stranger. I daresay that’s sometimes true of even ourselves.
6 comments:
I have a huge pile of old postcards, many of which were passed to me by my long-dead gran. Just like old photos, I can't bring myself to throw them out. None of them are particularly interesting -- 'weather is lovely, wish you were here' is the rather cliched norm. But knowing that most, if not all, of the people who sent them are no longer with us and that most of the places in the pictures will be near-unrecognisable, especially the resorts (the mountain scenes will be no different, I'd have thought), makes them strangely haunting. Ghosts from the past -- images, handwriting, sentiments and a sense of occasion.
PS: glad you've resurrected your blog :-)
That's rather sweet and a nice way of looking at them. Unfortunately, the ones I find like that in antique shops do nothing for me, because I don't have the same connection to the writers or recipients. I learned from them, and if I do send postcards, the messages at least give the postman something entertaining to read while he is delivering them.
I'm glad I resurrected it too, but I probably will only post once a week or so, as I can't post until I visit the local library, not having internet at home.
Hey Skye,
I know all about that Fred guy.
He was a bounder and a gadabout.
Never worked a day in his life.
His "Mom" never married as his Father, also named "Fred", was also a bounder and a gadabout who never worked a day in his life.
Just reading his postcard brings back a lot of old memories.
Not of Fred. I never actually met him. Or anyone named Fred for that matter.
But I did see a postcard once.
Happy Days..
Wait! Why did you put "Mom" in quotes? Are you secretly trying to tell me that she wasn't actually his mother? Did Fred know about this? Fred Jr., that is. Oh heck, maybe Fred Sr. didn't know she wasn't the mother of his son either. OMG, you can't leave me in suspense like this. Get back here right this instant!
Fred's dead.
I hear he's Freda now.
Bad accident falling in a lake wearing jeans that were to small and not preshrunk.
Poor Fred. Would've been nicer if it'd been his choice.
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