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Date Posted: 20:27:26 01/20/03 Mon
Author: Blue Devil
Subject: Trip into the past

Partly because I was asked, and mostly because I wanted to, I'm writing the history of an organization of which I'm part. The Old Man was, and is, one of the key players in it.

A few years ago I realized that we were losing things, and many of the oldest members were dying off. The evolution and growth of this organization is a really cool story, reflective of the nature and determination of people of the Lackawanna Valley. I didn't want the story to be lost foreever, so I took on this task.

Its a difficult project, but I'm finding I'm really getting drawn into it. As usual, I sense some divine purpose, and somehow feel that I've been "chosen" by the ghosts of the past (with whom I usually have a better relationship than with actual peple of the present).

I'm pouring over old meeting minutes, photos, tattered newspaper clippings, and I'm talking with some of the oldest members.

Last week I was working in the organization's building. Some people were there but eventually started to leave. I ended up by myself in a dimly lit office, with my musty old tomes of minutes books and faded pictures. Fascinated by the records of struggles and gutsy decisions, I was sent back to when I was little. I remeber the first old small building, and I could feel the dankness of the damp cinderblocks and smell the cigarette smoke of the fine old men from 1915 on. Twice I felt a presence, but when I turned and looked into the darkness outside the office there was nothing. It was as if I was being guided to particularly significant passages in the books. Although alone in the large, dark building late at night, I sensed no threat and even wished I could feel it more strongly.

How fascinating and enlightening to do something like this. Its going to take some time, but I really want to do it justice. Its part of me.

BD, historian.

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