A Face from the Past

“Grandpa, I didn’t know you and Grandma had your honeymoon in New York City!” Cindy called out to her grandfather. She had opened a box that was labeled simply “1960s” and found a manila envelope labeled “Honeymoon, New York City, 1965.”

She and her grandfather were trying to organize and clean out her grandparents’ cluttered attic. Cindy was going to help her grandparents by digitizing the photos from their nearly 60-year marriage. Part of her motivation for helping with this project was to pull out photos for a slideshow at their big 60^th wedding anniversary celebration next year. This was going to be her surprise gift to them.

In addition to the honeymoon envelope, there were several other large manila envelopes labeled for their other big vacations. These included San Francisco, Toronto, and the Grand Canyon. Cindy pulled out all the large envelopes and laid them out on the floor in front of her. Then she started pulling out the other miscellaneous souvenirs in the box, including baseball caps, train tickets, and maps.

After she had placed all these items on the floor next to the large envelopes, she saw a small envelope at the bottom of the box. The opening side of the envelope was facing up—when Cindy picked it up and turned it over, the writing on the envelope said “Dad? 1965, New York City.”

“Grandpa, do you know what this is?” Cindy walked over to where her grandfather was seated at his office desk. He had his reading glasses on as he went through the memories they were rediscovering in the attic.

He looked at the envelope. “Hmmm. I don’t recognize this,” he told Cindy. “Let’s take a look.”

The envelope had once been sealed, but after all these years, the adhesive crumbled under his touch. Inside were two photographs. One was a fuzzy image of a man and a woman seated at an outdoor table at a café; the other was an in-focus version of the same picture.

“I have never seen these pictures before. I don’t think I took them,” he mused. “But these are definitely from our honeymoon—I recognize the café. It was near our hotel. We had coffee and cake there almost every afternoon after we had spent the day sightseeing.”

“I always took all our trip pictures. I didn’t even think Lilian knew how to use the camera.” Bill studied the envelope. “That’s your grandmother’s handwriting. Let’s ask her if she remembers these pictures.”

Bill and Cindy walked down the hall to the kitchen where Lilian was having a cup of tea and reading the newspaper.

“How are you two making out with the attic cleanup project?” Lilian asked.

“It’s going well,” Bill replied. “I am so happy to have Cindy helping me.” Bill handed his wife the small envelope and the two pictures. “We found these. I don’t recognize these pictures. Do you?”

Lilian adjusted her glasses and examined the envelope and the two pictures. “I haven’t laid eyes on these in decades. I do remember taking these pictures.” She stared at the in-focus photograph.

Bill and Cindy took chairs at the kitchen table. Lilian remained silent as she continued to look at the picture she had taken nearly 60 years ago.

Bill put his hand on her arm. “Who are these people, Lilian? Why did you take their picture?”

Lilian sighed. “At the time, I was sure that I was looking at my father.”

“Your father? I thought he died when you were little,” Bill replied.

“That’s what my mother always told us,” Lilian said. “As far as I know, I never met him. There are no pictures of me with him. My sister Charlotte was born in 1941, before he was drafted into the war. She has a picture with him when she was a baby. But I was born in 1943, while he was serving in the army.”

“Did he return from the war?” Bill pressed.

“I think so. I’m pretty sure we would have received a Purple Heart if he had died in the war, but I never saw one. During the war, I believe after he was drafted, we all moved in with my mother’s parents. I was little, but I don’t think he was ever back in our lives. When we were older, my mother told us that he had been killed in an automobile accident in 1945. We had a lot of schoolmates who had lost their fathers in the war, so we didn’t feel any different from anyone else.”

“Did you ever see a newspaper clipping on the accident, or an obituary?” Cindy asked. She was intrigued. This was a real family mystery.

“No, nothing,” Lilian responded. “We had very few mementos of him. There was a photo album with a couple of wedding pictures and the picture of him with baby Charlotte. But that’s about it. He wasn’t mentioned at all unless we asked.”

Bill took the photograph from Lilian. “So why did you think that this man could be your father? Did you have any reason to think he was still alive?”

“As we were putting together the guest list for our wedding, I asked my mother about my paternal grandparents. I had never met them, and I thought maybe we should invite them to the wedding. My mother told me that they were deceased.” Lilian stared off into space as the memories returned. “I remember that she got very upset that I was asking these questions. I didn’t want to distress her, so I dropped the subject.

“My mother worked very hard to support us when we were growing up. She had a good job in an office, and we never lacked for everything. Charlotte and I always had her and my grandparents. We had a good, solid upbringing.” Lilian took the photo back from Bill and stared at it.

“I had studied the pictures in the photo album from my parents’ wedding. There was one of my mother and father with two older people who I assume were my paternal grandparents. I looked at that picture so many times that I had the faces memorized.” Lilian traced the man’s face in the photograph. “I believe this is my father. He is a carbon copy of his father.”

“Grandma, did you ever show this picture to anyone?” Cindy asked, taking her grandmother’s hand in hers.

“I showed it to Charlotte,” Lilian responded, squeezing her granddaughter’s hand. “She thought maybe there was a resemblance, but she wasn’t sure. But she didn’t see him in person. I did. She urged me not to show it to our mother, so I put it in this envelope and forgot about it.” Lilian wiped a tear away.

Bill leaned toward his wife and kissed her cheek. “Lilian, how come you never told me all of this?”

Lilian shrugged. “I figured that maybe I was just imagining things. We didn’t have the internet back then to do any research, so there wasn’t anything else I could do. Honestly, until you showed me this picture just now, I had almost forgotten about this altogether.”

Cindy had an idea. “Grandma, I think I can help you to solve this mystery. I have a good friend who is an amateur genealogist. She is very good at researching people and has access to lots of records and databases. Is it okay if I have her research this for you?”

Lilian looked at her granddaughter and smiled. “I’m almost a little afraid of what she may find, but I would love to have some answers. What do you need from me? I’ll give you what little information I have.”

Cindy squeezed her grandmother’s hand. “Great. We’re going to find you some answers. It may just be for your own knowledge—it doesn’t mean you have to act on anything. Let me check with Carrie to find out what she needs, and I’ll let you know.”

Lilian was able to provide Cindy with her father’s full name, birthdate, and place of birth. Cindy gave this information to Carrie, who came back to Cindy a month later with an update. She had found Lilian’s father's whereabouts after the war and asked Cindy to let her meet in person with Lilian to share what she had uncovered.

Carrie sat down at Lilian and Bill’s kitchen table with Lilian, Bill, and Cindy with a folder of papers in front of her. She addressed Lilian, “I know what happened to your father, Lilian. He didn’t die in 1945.”

Lilian exhaled the breath she had been holding. “Wow,” was all she could say.

“Your father, Michael Maguire, was born on November 19, 1919, in Cleveland, Ohio. I couldn’t get a copy of his birth certificate, but I did find his birth recorded in the Ohio State birth archives. Here is a copy of that page of the record.” Carrie passed a piece of paper over to Lilian. “You can get a copy of his birth certificate since you are his daughter. I can help you with that.”

“Next, I found a record of Michael’s marriage to Lydia on September 1, 1939, in Chicago. Again, this is just the Illinois state marriage directory. You can request a copy of the marriage license if you like.” Carrie passed this document to Lilian.

Lilian scanned the documents Carrie passed to her before pushing them over toward Bill.

“The next place I found him was in the 1940 Census, living with your mother in Evanston, Illinois.” Carrie passed a photocopy of the Census record over to Lilian. She had circled Michael and Lydia’s name on the handwritten record. “As you can see, it lists their address, their ages, and Michael’s profession. He was a steelworker.”

“A steelworker,” Lilian mused. “I had no idea.”

“Most likely he took the train into Chicago every day,” Carrie elaborated. “Next, I found the listings for the births of both you and your sister, Charlotte. Charlotte was born in 1941 and you in 1943. Is your sister still with us?”

“Yes, she lives in Seattle with her daughter,” Lilian replied.

“Good. I assume you both have copies of your birth certificates. If you need updated copies, I can help you with that,” Carrie added.

“So now we’re up to the point where your father disappeared from your lives,” Carrie continued. “The U.S. government just publicly released 1950 Census records a couple of years ago. I found a man that I believe is your father alive and living in Cleveland, Ohio, in 1950. He was living next door to a couple that I believe to be his parents, and he has a wife and two children in his household.”

Carrie passed a photocopy of the Census record over to Lilian. Michael Maguire’s name was circled. The age lined up; he had been 20 in the 1940 census, and here he was 30. Under his name, it listed Mary, aged 25, as his wife, along with two children, Sarah, aged 3, and Michael, aged 1. Next door to them lived Philip and Margaret Maguire, aged 51 and 50, respectively.

Lilian took it all in. Her father had moved to Ohio and started an entirely new family. She had so many questions to which she might never get answers. “Is there any way to find out if he and my mother were ever legally divorced?”

“I couldn’t find any record of a divorce, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,” Carrie responded. “With a little more time, I can do a more exhaustive search.”

Lilian pulled out the photograph she had taken in New York City in 1965 and passed it over to Carrie. “We probably can’t know for sure, but is it possible that the man I saw on my honeymoon was my father?”

Carried nodded. “It’s entirely possible. Your father died in 1975 in Cleveland at the age of 55. I was able to access historical newspaper obituaries for Cleveland and I found his obituary. It included a picture, which I think you will find very interesting.”

Carrie handed Lilian the photocopy of the obituary from The Plain Dealer and Lilian began to read.

Wednesday, March 26, 1975

Michael David Maguire passed away peacefully at his Cleveland home on Sunday, March 23 at the age of 55. Michael was born on November 19, 1919, in Cleveland to Philip and Margaret (Reilly) Maguire.

During World War II, Michael fought in Europe as part of the U.S. Army’s 101^st Airborne Division. He participated in the D-Day invasion and the Battle of Bastogne and earned numerous medals for his service. Before the war, Michael worked as a steelworker at Republic Steel in Chicago, Illinois. After the war, he worked for Republic in Cleveland, where he was still employed at the time of his passing.

Michael leaves behind his loving wife Mary, a daughter Sarah, and a son Michael Jr. He was predeceased by his parents.

A mass of Christian burial will be held on Saturday, March 29 at 9:00 a.m. at St. Stephen Catholic Church, 1930 West 54th Street.

Lilian stared at the black and white photocopied picture that accompanied the obituary. It was grainy, but she was nearly 100% sure that this was her father. She put the photograph she had taken in New York City in 1965 next to the newspaper obituary. It had to be him.

“So this means I have a half-sister and a half-brother?” Lilian murmured.

“Yes,” Carrie confirmed. “And they are both still alive and living in Cleveland. I can give you their information, but it’s up to you if you want to reach out to them. You’ll probably want to discuss it with your sister. I’m happy to help in any way I can.”

“This is so much to take in,” Lilian exclaimed as she reached for Bill’s hand. “Can you believe that we learned all of this because of a picture from our honeymoon in New York City 60 years ago?”