David T. Music And Stuff

Hello friends, and Family,

At the end of this story dad asks a rhetorical question, “I wonder if my spirit will live on in my descendants?” I think I can unequivocally say that dad’s spirit lives on in all of his descendants. Any of his friends who meet any of his six sons, even blonde-haired blue-eyed son number three, Tim, we tease him that he’s the milkman’s son but, he’s actually a spitting image of my maternal grandfather, Arthur Daley, know they are seeing the spirit of Don Tschirhart. The harder I try to not be like dad, the more I look and act like him. There is a certain attitude the sons of Don Tschirhart own that makes his spirit come alive.

And it doesn’t stop there . . . All of dad’s grandchildren including those that were adopted, own the same traits. He strongly influenced all of his family. And then . . . I see the spirit of Don Tschirhart in his great-grandchildren, some of whom never met him. They are unmistakably Don Tschirharts’ descendants! How is this possible? Is it that a bit of a person’s personality and essence is passed on from generation to generation? Is a person’s essence passed on, unknowingly by his descendants? Genetics? Spirituality? It seems that all dad’s goodness and sense of wonder have magically appeared in all of his descendants.

I hope you enjoy this story and can find a bit of the spirit of your ancestors yourselves.

Thanks for reading and love to all,

David T

p.s. Comments are very much appreciated.You can write comments below each story.

 

This is my Great-[Great] Grandfather, Peter Tschirhart. His [grandson], my grandfather, was a pianist and big band leader. I believe Peter is the one listed in the Guinness Book of World Records as belonging in two different nation’s armies at the same time. It seems he was the only one to own a Sousaphone in the Windsor, Ontario, Canada/Detroit, Michigan, USA  area . . . [edited/corrected after hearing from John Tschirhart]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here’s the story . . . Enjoy:

“Ancestor’s Spirit Lives Within Us”

By Don Tschirhart

Excerpted from the unpublished book “It’s a Wonderful World II: A Retired Reporter Looks At Life“

 

Ancestor’s Spirit Lives Within Us

A half century ago bricks, stones and lumber from an abandoned 19th century community of 2,000 called Clark City was discovered under farm soil in a vacant Monroe County field.

A Detroit Edison Company “urban planner” read about the town in a history book he found in a New York library. Clark City was not listed on modern maps or history books.

While in north Monroe County he asked a barber if he knew of old cemeteries and was directed to a nearby farm.

The planner matched names of his history book to faint etchings on cemetery tombstones. Digging nearby unearthed Clark City.

Every town has a cemetery. To some they are interesting places, a quiet sanctuary where friends and relatives think of a dead person’s life inscribed by a dash on markers between birth and death dates.

After visiting a family plot in a local cemetery, the Rev. Fr. Eugene Hemrick wrote:

“As I left, I found my spirits lifted. But why? For one thing, I realize that even though I am one person, many other persons who were in my life are a part of who I am.

“We tend to imitate in certain ways those who inspire us, and in doing so their spirit becomes a part of us. They never really die as long as we live, for their spirit lives in us.”

Some communities advertise and promote viewing of their town cemetery.

Tourist-minded Tombstone, Ariz., has one of the most famous, Boot Hill, where whimsical sayings are written on wooden and concrete markers.

Casualties of the famous “O.K. Corral shootout” including the Clanton’s and McLaury’s are buried here.

One headstone, humorous where there is no humor, reads, “Here lies Lester Moore. Four slugs from a .44. No Les. No More.”

Cemeteries have little mirth. We all try to think about our loved ones who are buried here, wishing them well and that they were still alive. When I visit the grave of my son, Kevin, I chuckle at some things he did in this life.

His family inscribed truthfully, “He loved and was loved,” on his marker to epitomize his short life.

We Americans venerate those who served their country, many cut down making the supreme sacrifice for freedom, at national cemeteries around the world.

Thousands of soldiers who fought to preserve the union during the Civil War are in the Gettysburg Cemetery.

Boston has cemeteries with remains of famous Revolutionary War heroes along a brick walking tour of historic sites.

A few weeks ago Margie and I visited Salem, Mass., where in 1692 eighteen innocent accused witches were hanged and another was crushed to death. They were buried in the Old Salem Cemetery near where they died.

The lesson was how hysterical people, in this case, testimony of young girls and their families, can lead to suffering by blameless victims, and decisions by fanatical judges.

It was fascinating walking through the old Salem graveyard and reading etched names on markers dated from 1640, just a few years after Pilgrims landed at Plymouth.

Many of us drive past cemeteries on our way to work or pleasure. As you do, remember the words of Fr. Hemrick:

“They never really die as long as we live, for their spirit lives in us.”

I wonder if my spirit will live on in my descendants?

 

Don Tschirhart