I traveled to Richmond in the pouring rain this morning to meet the Clutter Cleaner guys who were scheduled to purge the house today. Since it has been vacant for nearly 3 months now, it seemed like the next right thing to do. It hasn't been listed for sale yet as I just got the city to reasses the house and also got an independent appraisal done. It is worth very little above land value.
When I arrived, I learned that there was something very wrong. I could see it on the face of the crew from CC. The house had been burglarized and ransacked. Sure, the house had been condemned by the city so you might be questioning what difference this makes. Seeing mattresses toppled over, drawers thrown across rooms, papers and trinkets canvased throughout every inch of the floor is upsetting, even in a condemned home. To walk through the house crunching on glass was like pouring salt in a wound...it's a scab that is scratched again and prolongs healing. I took it very personal. It happened on my watch and I am supposed to be the protector of them. I KNOW this is not reasonable or rational but its how I felt. I felt angry...angry that someone would destroy what I am working to preserve of their story, their lives, at 1926. Thank God this would be yet another chapter that neither James or Etta would never know.
The police arrived moments after my call to 911...though they didn't know what to do. In fact they asked me, "What would you like us to do?" They were not concerned in the least bit. They asked me if anything was stolen. I just shrugged my shoulders for the words that flooded my mouth would have been rude and wasted. What I wanted to say was, "I don't know. My grandparents couldn't tell me even if they were here. They can't speak for themselves. They can't remember what they had for breakfast let alone what should be here.
Instead I said something like this...Another crime happened here so I called the police. Isn't that what I am supposed to do? A citizen reporting a crime? Isn't it your job to respond...be concerned...at least appear that way?
When they felt it was not necessary to file a report, I insisted on some way of documenting the crime. Otherwise, I would be ignoring what happened at 1926...I would be looking the other way....and that can and will never happen.
Over the next two days, the house was purged of all contents. Many precious family photos were recovered in the process. Many dating back to the late 1800's...many capturing my grandparents courtship, early years of marriage, and the childhoods of my uncle and father. I also came across numerous letters I had written to Etta over the years.
Right before I got married, I wrote in a letter...
"You have been more than a grandmother to me, you have been a girls best friend. You have been my confidant and my source of confidence. You are a picture of beauty to me."
In one, written in 1997, I expressed concern for Etta's health as she had evidently not been feeling well. I wrote...
"I can't wait to see you at Christmas and I hope you feel better then than you did at Thanksgiving. I know you don't want to burden me by telling me if something is wrong, but I love you and I always will...."
Reading this letters brought back so many wonderful memories...and I found myself even asking the question, "What difference does it make (the burglary)? For what is valued most was captured in these letters and photos....AND no one can take that away....
When I arrived, I learned that there was something very wrong. I could see it on the face of the crew from CC. The house had been burglarized and ransacked. Sure, the house had been condemned by the city so you might be questioning what difference this makes. Seeing mattresses toppled over, drawers thrown across rooms, papers and trinkets canvased throughout every inch of the floor is upsetting, even in a condemned home. To walk through the house crunching on glass was like pouring salt in a wound...it's a scab that is scratched again and prolongs healing. I took it very personal. It happened on my watch and I am supposed to be the protector of them. I KNOW this is not reasonable or rational but its how I felt. I felt angry...angry that someone would destroy what I am working to preserve of their story, their lives, at 1926. Thank God this would be yet another chapter that neither James or Etta would never know.
The police arrived moments after my call to 911...though they didn't know what to do. In fact they asked me, "What would you like us to do?" They were not concerned in the least bit. They asked me if anything was stolen. I just shrugged my shoulders for the words that flooded my mouth would have been rude and wasted. What I wanted to say was, "I don't know. My grandparents couldn't tell me even if they were here. They can't speak for themselves. They can't remember what they had for breakfast let alone what should be here.
Instead I said something like this...Another crime happened here so I called the police. Isn't that what I am supposed to do? A citizen reporting a crime? Isn't it your job to respond...be concerned...at least appear that way?
When they felt it was not necessary to file a report, I insisted on some way of documenting the crime. Otherwise, I would be ignoring what happened at 1926...I would be looking the other way....and that can and will never happen.
Over the next two days, the house was purged of all contents. Many precious family photos were recovered in the process. Many dating back to the late 1800's...many capturing my grandparents courtship, early years of marriage, and the childhoods of my uncle and father. I also came across numerous letters I had written to Etta over the years.
Right before I got married, I wrote in a letter...
"You have been more than a grandmother to me, you have been a girls best friend. You have been my confidant and my source of confidence. You are a picture of beauty to me."
In one, written in 1997, I expressed concern for Etta's health as she had evidently not been feeling well. I wrote...
"I can't wait to see you at Christmas and I hope you feel better then than you did at Thanksgiving. I know you don't want to burden me by telling me if something is wrong, but I love you and I always will...."
Reading this letters brought back so many wonderful memories...and I found myself even asking the question, "What difference does it make (the burglary)? For what is valued most was captured in these letters and photos....AND no one can take that away....