We all have our baggage.

And my Father was no different.  When he married my mother he already had a shattered family behind him.  He had been married and had 5 kids.  One son and one daughter had died at a very young age.  His wife was deceased and he had been left with 3 sons.  The boys had all ended up in an orphanage.  Earl had been adopted as had Richard.  Sadly, Gene had not found a forever family.  Earl seemed to be the most normal as he married and sired 2 boys and 1 girl.  We were in contact with them although it never was a close relationship.  Richard had a lot of mental health issues stemming from his years in the Army.  Ah, but dear Gene was a study unto itself!

I did not see Richard or Earl until my teenage years, but Gene turned up early.  We were living on the Stroh place.  I must have been 5 or 6 years old, possibly 7.  I recall him turning up in the middle of the night, or so it seemed.  He came with somebody named Banks and that is about all I recall about that meeting.  When you are little you pick up scraps of conversation and piece together your own reality.  That is what I have done with Gene Bartholomew.  Over the years I learned that he had a wife and son back east some where.  Seems brother Gene had a bad habit and that was writing checks on someone else's bank account.  The state also had a bad habit of arresting him and putting him in prison.

In a box in my closet are letters from Gene that he had written to our father.  Parts of those letters are seared in my mind.  I do not read them anymore.  "Dear Daddy, When are you going to come and get me?  We are going to get a new pair of overalls in a couple weeks.  I miss you, daddy"

Some time in my grade school years I recall carrying on a correspondence with him while he was in Lansing Prison.  I recall that he was an artist at calligraphy.  Mother always said that was his downfall because he was in prison for forgery.  He did have beautiful handwriting.  I do not know what we wrote about, only that we did.  I do recall once when he was released he came by the house and somebody with a car drove him out to the Arkansas River and dropped him off so he could "be alone to clear his mind."  The next day she picked him up at the specified time and he once more disappeared.

He turned up again when I was in high school.  This time he stayed with my sister and her husband, but that only lasted a few weeks and then he was gone again.  The last anyone heard of him, to my knowledge was that he had been arrested in Nebraska and rather then prosecute him for whatever he had done, they took him to the county line and dropped him off.  He was never seen nor heard of again.

I have often thought of his son.  He would have to be about my age.  His name was William (Billy) Bartholomew.  Of course I am too late, I am sure.  But wouldn't that be nice if he had heirs and one of them read this?  I am not holding out any hope at all.  Just a silly old woman waking up in the middle of the night with something on her mind.