Stories Are Sticky Notes On Life's Bulletin Board

Stories are Sticky Notes on Life’s Bulletin Board

By Jeffrey M. Bowen

The best stories weave together the past with imagination and emotion.   They tell us a lot about who we are.   Often repeated in family histories or at gatherings, titillating tales make us want to learn what comes next.  Somehow, they create a more personal connection than either a single anecdote or a string of facts.   All the better if they embed a curious mystery or two, or even so-called skeletons in the closet.    

   Besides their content, stories need an adept delivery.   Often a cherished holiday tradition, the best stories are told aloud with dramatic pauses.  The skill can be learned, but I submit it is something of an inborn personality trait.   If you are blessed to have a relative with this talent, you may forget what they say, but you will never forget how they made you feel.     

 Saving skeletons and skillful oral deliveries for another day, I am happy to share a mind picture of two characters whose story lines have entertained me for decades:  my maternal grandfather Albert G. Suttill and my paternal grandfather Henry Bowen.       

  Albert Suttill left behind just one memento, an ivory slide rule engraved with his name and the date January 7, 1914.    Known as “Bertie English,” and always in frail health, he died at 52 around 1950.   His treatises on mechanical engineering can be found in the annals of Cambridge University.  He designed the historic seal on Hood milk trucks, as well as one of the earliest stateside hook and ladder fire engines.

  A nervous disposition discouraged Albert from driving vehicles.  Yet he often rode an Indian motorcycle with my infant mom in a sidecar.  His temperament was overlooked by those who insisted he drive the hook-and-ladder prototype of his fire engine in a town parade.  When he crashed it through a department store window on main street, the parade sponsors probably regretted their decision.

There is more.   His early unpatented designs for the Austin mini were apparently stolen by his partner, never to be recovered.  Given such talents, the U.S. government had to protect him from being kidnapped by spies from a German submarine lurking off the coast of New Jersey during the first World War.  Mysteriously, while Albert Suttill possessed valuable technical knowledge, the actual operation of machinery intimidated him.   So why did he end up as a boiler company engineer in Massachusetts?

According to my mother, when he was a young boarding school student, Bertie English was bullied and knocked to the ground on a soccer field.  When he looked up, a tall American student pulled him up and scared off his attackers.  At this moment, he vowed  to move to America.

My paternal grandfather Henry Bowen lived a uniquely different life on the Maine coastal island of Chebeague.   His father Hugh co-owned a so-called “stone sloop”, and at 23 years old Henry was the cook.    These ships transported granite from coastal quarries to locations that included the Washington Monument.  Mainly Hugh and Henry repaired lighthouses and spindles or markers.   I have seen photos showing Henry’s name embedded in the concrete footings of coastal lights.

 A story from 1885 surrounds one spindle that was much larger than most found along the coast.  It was due to be set on a treacherous ledge, seldom exposed by the tides, about two miles north of Monhegan Island.    First, the Bowens had to purchase a steam drill to core out a hole in the rock where they could set the spindle.   A mistakenly closed safety value nearly blew up their vessel.  Then using a boom derrick, the Jenny Lind crew had to lower a four-ton piece of iron in place quickly, from an awkward distance, without tipping their sloop over.    Although they managed to do so, no doubt Henry thanked God more than once in the little church they eventually built on Chebeague. 

Stories are certainly a  captivating way of describing whole lives or episodes with their many conflicts and harmonies.  Whether in workshops or in life generally, I have found that stories send memorable messages.   Long after we have gone, the sticky notes we leave on our personal bulletin boards will define our legacy.