My grandfather, Arthur C. Dale, had always been an elusive figure in our shared legacy. Whispered beneath closed doors and veiled in shadows of the past, his memory was restrained by a date that bore his assumed parting of this earth in 1931. However, an inscription, written in stone professed a different tale, Arthur’s departure was indeed in 1957, some twenty-six years beyond the veil of our perceived history.
Between the time of the world’s whispers and the silent echo of his death, a secret reverberated through the grieving kin. Arthur C. Dale’s life, resplendent with accomplishments undiscussed, was wrapped in not only brilliance but mystery.
The legend of this man—a patent holder, hand engraver, a descendant of a lineage entwined with the very cobblestone brick foundation of New Orleans, established under French rule— all had been hidden away within the sequestered walls of a mental health institution.
A glass of fine spirits might be the companion one needs to espouse such a narrative, one where the glimmers of our ancestry’s prestigiousness trickled through the corridors of time, softly knocking upon the doors of our consciousness. It was a tale that spoke volumes of the era’s tenets, where matters like mental illness were draped in veils of secrecy and a family’s business was harbored in the inner sanctum of solace.
The cryptic ad placed amorously in the Times-Picayune foreshadows Arthur’s despair, painting a haunting backdrop to this complex tapest.
As I was puzzling together the hidden pieces of a long-lost image, there was both anguish and awe in discovering the layers of our ancestors lifes that remained obscured.
Breathe the spirit of the past, as you are cordially invited to join me on a voyage across time—that promises to reconnect us with the whispers and footsteps of ancestors we nearly lost to silence. With every turn and every unveiled ancestor, we interlace our souls with our past, enriching the fabric of our family and honoring the enigmatic lives of Arthur Clement Dale and Eugenia (Jenny) Maestri.
You ever wonder why Grandpa ended up in that mental institution, the big family secret?
Well, I decided to dig into it, literally. Ventured into our family crypt and, surprise, it’s like the spirits of the past decided to hold a reunion.
Now, I’m jotting down all the craziness I’ve unearthed before it slips away.
It’s a bit daunting, but uncovering these family secrets promises to be quite the journey, offering insights into our history that we never knew existed.