That's all there is

Photo of Herbert Derrick

The Calumet shopkeeper told me it was no mystery to him why Charles was in Lake Linden. That's where the smelting operation was for the copper mines. And it turns out that Sheffield, England had plenty of smelters, and people from there were very skilled.

The man was also helpful in disciphering the letters behind the names in the directory.

Charles was a labor, as was his brother Benjamin, Ernest was a driver. We figure that Charles was the oldest because it is listed that Ernest and Benjamin lived with him. Now the kicker. ... the yellowed pages lay out exactly where the family lived in Lake Linden. ... two houses in from the corner of Hecla St. and G St.

It's hard to tell whether one of the houses on the block is where the family lived ... I doubt it. Houses would have been closer together ... my guess is that it is gone, vanished, just like the Derricks.

After visiting the street, we wanted to see if we could learn more and located the historical society building, but it was closed. So next stop, the cemeteries. First one, as it turns out, was the Catholic cemetery. There's no way a Derrick would be buried there, even if the church would have allowed it. We went to the Protestant cemetery and combed the grounds, looking at every tombstone, but there was no Derrick.

So many questions. What happened to these people? How come there are no photos of them? How come my dad rarely spoke of his family? OK, if the directory was from 1898, and Herbert was born in 1891 or so, that means there was quite a clan in the house.

Herbert had two brothers, Ernie and Fred, and there was a sister, Aunt Lisa. But who was the oldest? Where did Herbert move to? How did he meet his wife Ina Lee from Tornoto Canada?

Although Lake Linden is a beautiful spot, I came away very confused and with so many questions about these people. It's not so much that I have a desire to learn more about my roots, its more wanting to know why these people were forgotten ... chopped off the family tree.

That's all there is.

Some answers, more questions

My great grandfather, Charles was among the working class in the glory days of the mining boom in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. It was a mystery as to why he came to the place from Sheffield, England. Neither do I know anything about my great grandmother, Maria Law, who was born in Sheffield. These are the bits of information written by my mother on a family tree in my baby book.
Charles’ son, Herbert, was born in 1891 in Calumet.

Aunt Mary Lee said that Charles lived in Lake Linden and that he left town aroudn the age of 16 – that’s it, that’s all. That’s not much to know about your roots.

So, here I am in Calumet, not even knowing what I’m looking for.
A happenstance walk into a wonderful gift store ,however, provided more than just a clue about my DNA. All it took was my answer to a simple question from this amateur historian-mayor of Calumet-shopkeeper wanting to know my reason for visiting the area, and my less-than-enthusiastic couriosity about my past turned into a full-fledged misson to learn more.
“I want to at least visit the town where my great grandparents lived,” I responded. “But I’m not really sure if it was here or in Lake Linden.”
“Well let me see if I can help,” he said as he pulled out a 1898 equivalent to today’s “white pages” listing the names of people living in each of the area towns, their work position with the mines and the location of their home.

First he looked up Calumet … nothing. Then Lake Linden. There it was … my past … Derrick, Charles.
But the answers this shopkeeper-amateur historian-mayor of Calumet gave me, raised questions. Charles had two brothers …. Ernie and Benjamin.
So tomorrow, it’s off to Lake Linden to see if I can find the family home.

Calumet: Dreams reborn

We made it.
We are in Calumet, Michigan. That’s where my grandfather, Herbert, I understand was born in 1891. That’s about all I knew before deciding to take a trip here. To say that it was a trip to find my roots, would be sort of a half-truth; actually it is an excuse to get away to a new place. It is more about taking a trip and spending time with my husband, doing what we love to do – exploring out-of-the-way places.

Calumet is a town where every building has a story. The years 1898 or 1890 years are engraved into he red brick above the doors. This was a town built on copper, it was a town built on dreams, but it was a town built on the hope of a better future. People came from England, Canada, Finland to work in the copper mines. and the side-industries needed for the mineral. The immigrants built glorious buildings, glamorous Victorian mansions for the bosses and simple miner homes for the laborers. It was a town of more than 60,000, they say. And Friday nights were a time to celebrate.

Even though the buildings are solid, well-dewsinged, meant too last, they couldn't satnd up to the economic pressure of a mining industry gone bad. Calumet is a town that died. It died so quickly when the mining industry closed down that the empty buildings are ghosts of broken dreams. One building is going up for auction, and if you give a buck, you’d probably get it. People just walked or ran away from here, looking for a better life. Their dreams died with the copper business.

But people are coming back; people who are not afraid of hard work, and like those before them, are building on their dream, so the town is starting to take on new life.

Stops along the way:
Night one: Duluth, stayed with Nick, Echo, Stella and Charlie;
Next day: Fabulous quilt shop in Ironwood, Michigan
Pasties in Ontoagon, Michingan
Carrousel Winery, South Range, Michigan.
Michigan House and Brew Pub, Calument, Michigan

Derrick - no answers but more questions

It's weekend before Memorial Day.
Generally my dad’s birthday – May 23 - brings me to Fort Snelling National Cemetery where he is buried. Molly usually comes with me. We buy flowers, look around the grave plots for an empty container to “reuse” for our annual memorial that we place next to my dad’s tombstone.
Charles W. “Bill” Derrick, his white stone, in a sea of white markers stands sentry over his place of rest. He had heart issues, and his third major heart attack, got him. I understand he just came home from a round of golf, sat in his chair, and he was gone. That's it!

I didn't know my dad very well. He didn't share much about himself ... if you'd ask him a question, his response would be a joke. I swear I believed, and maybe still believe, that our roots go back to "Blackfoot Indians." He was a very likeable guy, but you couldn't get close to him. I think he only called me by my name no more that 10 times in my life ... he just never called me anything.

Anyway, for Molly and me it's the same every year on Memorial Day. We say “hi” to grandpa. I thank him for watching over my sons during the past year. (Molly has her own angel). And then I tell grandpa stories. She never really knew her grandfather. She was too young to have sat by his side as he sang country-western music while stumming the "guitar or playing the accordian. She never received one of his "momentos" that he would quickly disperse to Chris and Nick as we were leaving. That coconut monkey, golf trophy or wood carving from some trinket store bought during one of his travels, sure carry new meaning now that he is gone.
My stories are always the same. You see, my memories of my father have faded. Does time do that to us? Make it so there are only certain times, people and events that we can recall? Scary to think about, that down the road, I will be just a few memories to my children …. maybe a song, maybe a vacation we took together, maybe my favorite food that they hated but I made them eat.
My dad loved to have fun. I mean he REALLY loved a good time. But these are grandpa stories for another Memorial Day weekend.
Today, I am writing about my trip to his past, his father’s and his grandfather’s home. As little as I know about my father, I know even less about his father, uncles, grandfather, mother, grandmother. No one talked about them .... there are very, very few photos.

So it's off to Calumet and Lake Linden Michigan to my roots.

What is journalism?

Mary Turck challenged me to really think about what constitutes journalism? Blogs, tweets, citizen journalists... the new media can be a threat to any of us who are inclined to think that only those with a journalism degree can call themselves journalists. I am old enough to remember when street reporters laughed at us degreed people. ... a real journalism degree is earned on the streets, where the real stuff happens. I believe that journalism is changing along with the model that conveys our stories.
Mary and the Twin Cities Daily Planet are on the cutting edge of all that is new in journalism.

Mary's contact information:

Mary Turck- editor

editor@tcdailyplanet.net

Writing to your audience

Charles Hallman joined the Minnesota Spokesman-Recorder in 1990. He brought his wit to our class Monday, March 23. He really nailed the topic for the evening: Defining Your Audience and Going Where Mainstream Rarely Goes. He defines himself as a rebel of sorts, and is not afraid of controversy. He hit home his belief that, at a small paper, you can have access to stories that larger papers just can't get to. Why? People trust you, and if you live up to that trust, you will serve your audience well. His advice to students ... keep writing and read, read, read.

His contact information: Charles Hallman MSR Columnist 612-827-4021 challman@spokesman-recorder.com

No go-hers here

There were at least 50 communication majors from across the state at the Society of Professional Journalists event last night looking for information about internships.
The print and TV hopefuls looked to the panel (where I was a participant) for tips that would help them access one of these highly competitive prizes ... of course all eyes were on the Star Tribune, the Pioneer Press, WCCO and KSTP intern coordinators. But it was quickly apparent to me and the students that even if a student was to get an internship in the "big" market, they most likely would be doing "small" tasks.
We all know that internships and clips are key to landing a job. Brovald Sims Practicum students are very, very lucky, and I would encourage them to write Prof. Tims (dean of the J school) timsx001@umn.edu to express their gratitude for a class that actually provides an intern experience ... that provides a meaningful opportunity to get a byline, not just a chance to shadow a working reporter or be somebody's go-pher.