Ripples Over Time

by Donna Swagerty Shreve

In 1949, my family lived in the small town of Linden. I was four years old, and my brother had just been born. Our father had taught at Linden High School as a history and P.E. teacher. He was also coach of most all sports. After two or three years he moved across the street and became a combination seventh/eighth grade teacher and principal. Dad threw himself into his classroom and decided to put on a play involving the entire class. The students were either performers or were active behind the scenes with the various jobs needed to put on a production. One of his great helpers was a student who was put in charge of painting the set for the backdrop. Dad gave Lily a small picture that he wanted enlarged to a much larger full size flat. Lily used these skills she learned to impress me when she was my baby sitter.

I adored Lily as she was so attentive and entertained me with her cartoon drawings. My favorite drawing from what she did, was enlarging Bugs Bunny from the comic page in the newspaper. I kept it as a treasure for what seemed a long time for a little girl. Our family moved on to another town and another job as our father continued furthering his career.

Fast forward a good 50 years. My friend Shirley and I were out and about, probably ending up somewhere for lunch. Shirley asked if I was willing to stop with her at an art studio to pick up or drop off some of her art work. Shirley was quite involved in the Stockton art scene and had some paintings being displayed at a local art studio. As we engaged in exchanging the art work, Shirley ran into a fellow artist named Ernie. Shirley introduced me to Ernie and they made small talk. It became apparent to me quite quickly that Ernie had a large and wonderful personality. I became mostly an observer until I realized through various snippets from their conservation that I had a connection to Ernie.

It turned out that Ernie was a retired math teacher from Lincoln High. Grant, my youngest brother, had died in March of his freshman year in 1969. Ernie had also been one of the football coaches when Grant made the freshman football team. That connection was such a wonderful gift, but there was more. Ernie had known and worked with my father. I was hungry for any tidbits Ernie could share about my departed loved ones. From more interaction, I realized Ernie was married to my dear former babysitter Lily.

I gladly shared my memories of Lily with Ernie. Ernie had mentioned Lily couldn’t even draw a straight line. I then was able to share her talent for enlarging cartoons for me plus her accomplishment of the background set for her classroom play at Linden Elementary. Ernie was amazed at his wife’s unknown talent and our connection.

My next encounter with Ernie was several years later in his restaurant, Ernie’s on the Brick Walk, in Lincoln Center, in Stockton. He saw me eating lunch with a friend and came over to our table. I introduced Ernie to my friend and he said he had someone who wanted to meet me. Then he left. Soon a petite older Japanese lady came over to our table. She looked at both of us women and then asked, “Donna?”

I instantly knew! “Lily!” I jumped up and gave her a heart felt hug. I quickly caught up my lunch companion on why I knew Lily. Lily then wanted to share with me what a special person my father was and how he had been such a positive influence in her life. She related how my father had asked her to be in charge of creating and painting a set for a play the class was putting on. Dad had taught Lily how to make a grid over the small picture and how to enlarge that picture, section by section. I actually recall Dad sharing with the family, Lily’s great set that she painted with such careful determined effort.

Lily explained that the best gift my father gave her was making her feel like a real person. As a vulnerable twelve year old, Lily had just returned from the internment camps. Needless to say, I was stunned. It turns out Lily had given me a gift also. She had shared with me an unknown story of my dear father.

770 words

D. Shreve

5/28/2020

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