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| Who doesn't enjoy relaxing in a thick recliner after getting back from the last case? |
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| I don't remember watching a lot of soap operas as a kid. But perhaps I watched a lot of soap operas as a kid? |
Monday, February 25, 2019
Sleuthing
All this family and historical research I've been doing made me remember a short story I wrote in sixth grade, called "Sarah Sleuth," which was most certainly NOT autobiographical, and most certainly WAS filled with mystery and drama. Finally tracked down the original in a box of school papers my mom saved for me. A sampling:
Monday, February 18, 2019
Missing Newspapers
In our quest to learn more about an event in our family history (see previous post: The Mysteries of Family History: Naming Names), my Dad and I have done quite a bit of research in libraries, archives, and online.
Newspaper accounts of the event in question have been indispensable: the first big find on microfiche blew up long-held family myths about what happened and how. Over time, stories get exaggerated, changed, embellished. And then eventually the stories are wrong, a shadow of the truth.
The news reports set the record straight. The articles we found from the 1870s gave names, dates, and facts, and shared the public opinion in the matter. This is from the Indiana State Sentinel in 1874:
Naturally, we are eager to read the Attica Ledger's account of what happened. Public sentiment seems to be a huge factor in this case, and that feeling appeared to change over time. But there a gap in the archives: it seems that at least ten years’ worth of newspapers are missing from the records, specifically the Attica Ledger from Fountain County, Indiana. We're trying to track down newspapers from the years 1874-1876. (There's a single issue of the Attica Herald - which apparently published from 1873-1874 -- somewhere in the Boston Public Library; they know it exists in their archives, but a recent move and reorganization has made it hard to locate, and they're still searching.)
Hoosier State Chronicles, Indiana's historic digital newspaper program, has been a fantastic resource. But the Chronicles don't have these issues, either. Newspapers.com and NewspaperArchive.com add new papers every day, but they have to have the papers to add. I'm told that libraries are their primary resource, and none of the local or regional libraries have the Ledger from this time period. A very helpful genealogist went so far as to contact a private collector on my behalf. No luck on those missing issues. "They're gone," he told me.
We've heard that the Attica Ledger archives were housed in a storage facility during a move, then lost or forgotten about.
It happens easily enough. One of our own relatives loaned a small collection of newspapers and documents to a curious friend who never returned them. Another showed me two of three precious photo albums with family history documented inside. The third he loaned to a family member decades ago. "I never got it back," he told me last fall, his face full of regret.
How do we get back what's been lost? A friend and colleague pointed out that the story of the missing newspapers is also a family story. In addition to sending letters to potential relatives of the jurors and community members involved in the trial and subsequent pardon, I recently sent letters to people who share a name with one of the newspaper proprietors in Attica at the time. Maybe someone knows what happened to the missing papers. Maybe someone has a stash in their attic. What can I say? I lean toward optimism, most of the time.
And yet: it's a pessimistic time for newspapers. With the current decline of print newspapers and the constant reorganization of digital journalism, what will happen to the public record? Who will tell the stories of communities and individuals?
Librarians have been like helpful detectives throughout this process. I'm in awe of how much I've learned from them as we try to piece together the past. I'm trying to imagine the processes involved in archiving and cataloging so much information. Stacks and stacks of deteriorating documents. The storing and housing of paper that could be digitized and shared, if only we could find it.
Newspaper accounts of the event in question have been indispensable: the first big find on microfiche blew up long-held family myths about what happened and how. Over time, stories get exaggerated, changed, embellished. And then eventually the stories are wrong, a shadow of the truth.
The news reports set the record straight. The articles we found from the 1870s gave names, dates, and facts, and shared the public opinion in the matter. This is from the Indiana State Sentinel in 1874:
 |
| "Adverse to the accused" |
Naturally, we are eager to read the Attica Ledger's account of what happened. Public sentiment seems to be a huge factor in this case, and that feeling appeared to change over time. But there a gap in the archives: it seems that at least ten years’ worth of newspapers are missing from the records, specifically the Attica Ledger from Fountain County, Indiana. We're trying to track down newspapers from the years 1874-1876. (There's a single issue of the Attica Herald - which apparently published from 1873-1874 -- somewhere in the Boston Public Library; they know it exists in their archives, but a recent move and reorganization has made it hard to locate, and they're still searching.)
Hoosier State Chronicles, Indiana's historic digital newspaper program, has been a fantastic resource. But the Chronicles don't have these issues, either. Newspapers.com and NewspaperArchive.com add new papers every day, but they have to have the papers to add. I'm told that libraries are their primary resource, and none of the local or regional libraries have the Ledger from this time period. A very helpful genealogist went so far as to contact a private collector on my behalf. No luck on those missing issues. "They're gone," he told me.
We've heard that the Attica Ledger archives were housed in a storage facility during a move, then lost or forgotten about.
It happens easily enough. One of our own relatives loaned a small collection of newspapers and documents to a curious friend who never returned them. Another showed me two of three precious photo albums with family history documented inside. The third he loaned to a family member decades ago. "I never got it back," he told me last fall, his face full of regret.
How do we get back what's been lost? A friend and colleague pointed out that the story of the missing newspapers is also a family story. In addition to sending letters to potential relatives of the jurors and community members involved in the trial and subsequent pardon, I recently sent letters to people who share a name with one of the newspaper proprietors in Attica at the time. Maybe someone knows what happened to the missing papers. Maybe someone has a stash in their attic. What can I say? I lean toward optimism, most of the time.
 | |||||
| Attica Ledger classifieds invoice |
And yet: it's a pessimistic time for newspapers. With the current decline of print newspapers and the constant reorganization of digital journalism, what will happen to the public record? Who will tell the stories of communities and individuals?
Librarians have been like helpful detectives throughout this process. I'm in awe of how much I've learned from them as we try to piece together the past. I'm trying to imagine the processes involved in archiving and cataloging so much information. Stacks and stacks of deteriorating documents. The storing and housing of paper that could be digitized and shared, if only we could find it.
Thursday, November 29, 2018
The Mysteries of Family History: Naming Names
My friends and family -- and anyone else who's been within ten feet of me for the last couple years -- know that my father and I have been researching events in our family history that happened in 1874-76 in Warren and Fountain counties, Indiana.
Here's an abridged version of what we know so far: In August of 1874, near Independence/Attica, Tade Layden got into an altercation with another farmer named Daniel Driscoll, whose pigs had eaten some of Layden’s wheat. When Driscoll refused to pay what was owed, the men fought, and Layden, acting in self-defense, stabbed and killed Driscoll. Layden was tried in Covington in July 1875 and convicted of second-degree manslaughter.
Less than a year into his prison sentence, in 1876, Governor Hendricks pardoned Layden: the defendent’s lawyer, Daniel Voorhees (who went on to become a U.S. Senator from 1877-1897), wrote a letter of support, and so did the prosecutor from the state of Indiana.
 | |
| Daniel Voorhees |
 | |
| Gov. Thomas Hendricks |
The pardon packet also includes signatures from nine of the twelve jurors and the judge, along with a letter signed by community members, all supporting Layden’s pardon.
Why the change of heart? That’s what we’re trying to
learn.
We’ve consulted libraries, newspapers, archives, genealogy societies, parish records, books, family stories, local historians, and more. Now we’re searching for people who might have had this story passed down to them somehow: either by oral tradition/storytelling, or in the form of documents like diaries, letters, notes, or clippings.
We’ve consulted libraries, newspapers, archives, genealogy societies, parish records, books, family stories, local historians, and more. Now we’re searching for people who might have had this story passed down to them somehow: either by oral tradition/storytelling, or in the form of documents like diaries, letters, notes, or clippings.
This list of names below shows people who signed in support of Tade Layden’s pardon. (He is also referred to by his full name, Timothy, and sometimes in the documents Layden is spelled Layton or Laydon.)
Are you related to anyone on the list? (My son's kindergarten teacher is!) Have you heard anything about this event or story? We’d love to know about it. Please write, email, or call: Sarah Layden, IUPUI English Department, 425 University Boulevard, Indianapolis, IN 46202, 317-274-0089. My email is salayden (at) gmail (dot) com.
Jurors who signed in support of the pardon
Zacariah Ferguson (Foreman of
jurors)
Gaton Suttles
G W Glover (George W. Glover)
Nashville Adkins
Henry Cade
Frederick Hunt
John Bodine
H.H. Connelly
William Reichard
(Judge Thomas Davidson also signed)
Jurors who didn’t sign the letter:
Amariah Elwell
William Werts
William Patton
Signatures of support from Fountain
County citizens (a few guesses on the handwriting)
GW Boyd
E.N. Bowman, Clerk, F.C.
E.M. McDonald
S.F. Miller, Deputy Clerk, F.C.
William Yount, Recorder, F.C.
Sewell
E. Nebeker (Enos H. Nebeker)
(illegible)
James McMannon
G.B. Brown
John G. Brown
Samuel F. Moore
Peter McMahon
D. Rawles (David Rawles)
D. Neff
William Lamb
John R. Miles
Chas. Lamb (Charles Lamb)
Ben Bilsland
Oliver Shelby
H.R. Claypool
Lewis Hanes, Auditor
Isaac Haupt, Deputy Treasurer
John W. Gopner
Monday, November 26, 2018
Sixish lines in sixish minutes
1. Enjoyed my 25th high school reunion earlier this month (Go Wildcats!), though it was sparsely attended and many of my local peeps opted out. "We already see who we want to see. Plus there's Facebook." Have since taken a deep dive into my yearbook and high school journal. OMG. Burn that business. Or post on Instagram with witty remarks. SuperLatergram. Also am celebrating the 25+ anniversary of my hot pink wide-toothed comb, which I have been using since ninth grade. What is that thing made of, anyway? What am I made of, to not replace a comb after 25+ years?*
2. Related: all the little plastic bristle ball ends on my (far more recent) brush are gone. But where have they gone? They're bright orange. I'm imagining them falling out of my hair throughout the day, like sprinkles.
3. Sick kid is home with a cold the day after Thanksgiving break, and handily scammed a Coke and a muffin topper after the doctor's. (Me: "A small Coke." Him: "How about a medium?") That's my kid. Glad he's finally eating something.
4. Line from an unnamed and beloved friend, quoted in my high school journal: "I'm tired of masturbation. It doesn't solve any of my problems."
5. Three weeks left in my first semester as a tenure-track faculty member. (Eight years as an adjunct at two schools, four years as a lecturer at one school.) Putting so much time and energy into my own writing feels GOOD.
6. Possibly about #5: Waiting to hear about something I am not at liberty to disclose. Oh really? Yes, really. You're just gonna have to wait, too, robots who read this blog. Pincers crossed, and when I have news to share, feel free to wave your metal claws in the air in that cute way you do.
*Cheapness and grit, obvs. Plus: it ain't broke. Wear it out! Use it up! The siren song of the Midwest.
2. Related: all the little plastic bristle ball ends on my (far more recent) brush are gone. But where have they gone? They're bright orange. I'm imagining them falling out of my hair throughout the day, like sprinkles.
3. Sick kid is home with a cold the day after Thanksgiving break, and handily scammed a Coke and a muffin topper after the doctor's. (Me: "A small Coke." Him: "How about a medium?") That's my kid. Glad he's finally eating something.
4. Line from an unnamed and beloved friend, quoted in my high school journal: "I'm tired of masturbation. It doesn't solve any of my problems."
5. Three weeks left in my first semester as a tenure-track faculty member. (Eight years as an adjunct at two schools, four years as a lecturer at one school.) Putting so much time and energy into my own writing feels GOOD.
6. Possibly about #5: Waiting to hear about something I am not at liberty to disclose. Oh really? Yes, really. You're just gonna have to wait, too, robots who read this blog. Pincers crossed, and when I have news to share, feel free to wave your metal claws in the air in that cute way you do.
*Cheapness and grit, obvs. Plus: it ain't broke. Wear it out! Use it up! The siren song of the Midwest.
Wednesday, July 11, 2018
"Is there gas in the car?"
"Yes, there's gas in the car."
Name the artist of the above lyrics along with the location of this photo, and I will send you a random thing I pull from my desk drawer. (I've got good stuff in there.)
Name the artist of the above lyrics along with the location of this photo, and I will send you a random thing I pull from my desk drawer. (I've got good stuff in there.)
Summer reading
Very much appreciate these kind words from in NUVO about my forthcoming chapbook, The Story I Tell Myself About Myself. It'll be out in August -- details on preorders coming soon. (What company to be in...Michael Martone, Adrian Matejka, Jay Coles, Mitchell L.H. Douglas, Bru Baker, Ma'Desa Kinchlow, Missy Dehn Kubitschek, Justin Lehmiller, & Meri Henriques Vahl.) Thanks, Dan Grossman and Laura McPhee, for getting the word out about new words out in the world.
"The follow-up to her debut novel Trip Through Your Wires (2015), this time Layden gives readers a collection of unforgettable and superb flash fiction. The 15 stories are as short as one page and as long as four or five, but each one is so superbly written and expertly crafted that they feel richer and more complex than most full-length novels. From Mary, who “stands in boots not meant for church,” to the woman who was a house (not as big as a house, but an actual house), each character takes shape immediately in Layden’s prose and then disappears almost as quickly. Slippery, secretive, and sensual, Layden’s short fiction is simply magical."
"The follow-up to her debut novel Trip Through Your Wires (2015), this time Layden gives readers a collection of unforgettable and superb flash fiction. The 15 stories are as short as one page and as long as four or five, but each one is so superbly written and expertly crafted that they feel richer and more complex than most full-length novels. From Mary, who “stands in boots not meant for church,” to the woman who was a house (not as big as a house, but an actual house), each character takes shape immediately in Layden’s prose and then disappears almost as quickly. Slippery, secretive, and sensual, Layden’s short fiction is simply magical."
Friday, January 5, 2018
Forthcoming Chapbook
Very excited to share that my flash fiction chapbook, THE STORY I TELL MYSELF ABOUT MYSELF, was selected as the winner of The Sonder Press 2017 Chapbook Competition:
It will be out in July. Very much looking forward to this. And now that my spring syllabi are DONE and loaded onto the class apparatus, I'm celebrating with some middle-aged fun times: chiropractor visit and a trip to IKEA. And maybe a late-day coffee, because I live on the edge.
Tuesday, June 13, 2017
Wishful Thinking: The U2 Edition
I'm going to see The Joshua Tree tour. Twice. Which I have never done before, for any band, ever. Anybody know anybody at MetLife/Meadowlands for 6/28, or Lucas Oil Stadium for 9/10, who might be able to help arrange the following scenario? Wishful thinking. Yes.
(Originally published June 22, 2015)
Tomorrow is a radio station promotion, U-Tuesday, in which WTTS FM 92.3 will give away tickets to see U2 in Chicago. You have to be the second caller at specified times throughout the day to win two tickets. If I win*, I'll take my husband; the show is the day before our anniversary. Best wife ever!
Maybe you didn't know that my debut novel, TRIP THROUGH YOUR WIRES, takes its title from a U2 song on The Joshua Tree album. Maybe you didn't know that I saw U2 in Chicago in 1992, with the Pixies as opening act, at the Rosemont Horizon. Maybe you didn't know that I'm the Queen of Wishful Thinking.
But what IS certain is an imaginary scenario I've played out in my head. Tomorrow, at one of the specified times, I will call the radio station. I will not be the second caller, not on the first couple tries. Wishful Thinking is best rewarded after obstacles, so let's build the drama and say it takes until the last hour of the day, the last giveaway, for me to reach one of the DJs as the second caller. On the line: Paul Mendenhall or Laura Duncan or Brad Holtz. I have been listening to these three for ages! It's like they know me! Except they don't know me. But this is Wishful Thinking, in which case we'd probably chat for a moment about our impeccable taste in music.
In Chicago, at the United Center, a friend's brother's cousin's co-worker will connect us to the facility manager, who leads us backstage for a casual conversation with the band. I give them a copy of my novel. We chat briefly, because world leaders are also backstage wanting to discuss politics with Bono.
"You've written a book about us?" Bono asks.
"No, no, I've just always loved the song 'Trip Through Your Wires', and your music has meant so much to me over the years," I say, "as you can see from one of my early-90s mix tapes."
Bono tosses the mix to his assistant, who pops it into a cassette Walkman he keeps handy for this purpose. The assistant immediately begins rocking out.
"Once you read the novel, the connections to the title will make sense," I tell him. "It's more metaphoric than literal."
"Right on," he says. "Good thing titles aren't copyrighted, love."
"Ha ha, yes," my husband says. "This work is in no way affiliated with or sponsored by U2. It is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. The last thing we want is U2's legal team on our A-S-S."
The Edge looks over. "We can spell, mate."
We both shrug. "We have small children."
Everyone laughs, sitcom-style, but with awareness/appreciation/mockery of that style.
"Gorgeous cover," the band murmurs as One.
I tell them about the beautiful books my publisher, Engine Books, makes. We're both based in Indianapolis.
"And you came all this way to see us on a work night?" Larry Mullen Jr. asks. "Boy, you must be tired. Have a sandwich."
Adam Clayton passes a tray of artisanal breads and cheeses. We eat. Bono tucks the book in his bag to read later on the band's private jet. We will take pictures together in which my excitement causes me to look stiffly terrified, and none of the pictures will be usable for Facebook and Twitter posting, unless I want to go viral as Fan Terrified by U2 When She Was Actually Thrilled to Meet Them and Give Her Novel as a Gift.
Wishful Thinking turns complicated quickly, no?
My dialing finger is ready. It also helps to chant: Second caller second caller second caller. Not that I'm superstitious, or thinking magically. That would just be silly.
*Update: I didn't win. Still love all involved & caught beautiful vicarious snippets of yesterday's Chicago show through social media.
Vicariously yours,
SL
(Originally published June 22, 2015)
Tomorrow is a radio station promotion, U-Tuesday, in which WTTS FM 92.3 will give away tickets to see U2 in Chicago. You have to be the second caller at specified times throughout the day to win two tickets. If I win*, I'll take my husband; the show is the day before our anniversary. Best wife ever!
Maybe you didn't know that my debut novel, TRIP THROUGH YOUR WIRES, takes its title from a U2 song on The Joshua Tree album. Maybe you didn't know that I saw U2 in Chicago in 1992, with the Pixies as opening act, at the Rosemont Horizon. Maybe you didn't know that I'm the Queen of Wishful Thinking.
But what IS certain is an imaginary scenario I've played out in my head. Tomorrow, at one of the specified times, I will call the radio station. I will not be the second caller, not on the first couple tries. Wishful Thinking is best rewarded after obstacles, so let's build the drama and say it takes until the last hour of the day, the last giveaway, for me to reach one of the DJs as the second caller. On the line: Paul Mendenhall or Laura Duncan or Brad Holtz. I have been listening to these three for ages! It's like they know me! Except they don't know me. But this is Wishful Thinking, in which case we'd probably chat for a moment about our impeccable taste in music.
In Chicago, at the United Center, a friend's brother's cousin's co-worker will connect us to the facility manager, who leads us backstage for a casual conversation with the band. I give them a copy of my novel. We chat briefly, because world leaders are also backstage wanting to discuss politics with Bono.
"You've written a book about us?" Bono asks.
"No, no, I've just always loved the song 'Trip Through Your Wires', and your music has meant so much to me over the years," I say, "as you can see from one of my early-90s mix tapes."
Bono tosses the mix to his assistant, who pops it into a cassette Walkman he keeps handy for this purpose. The assistant immediately begins rocking out.
"Once you read the novel, the connections to the title will make sense," I tell him. "It's more metaphoric than literal."
"Right on," he says. "Good thing titles aren't copyrighted, love."
"Ha ha, yes," my husband says. "This work is in no way affiliated with or sponsored by U2. It is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. The last thing we want is U2's legal team on our A-S-S."
The Edge looks over. "We can spell, mate."
We both shrug. "We have small children."
Everyone laughs, sitcom-style, but with awareness/appreciation/mockery of that style.
"Gorgeous cover," the band murmurs as One.
I tell them about the beautiful books my publisher, Engine Books, makes. We're both based in Indianapolis.
"And you came all this way to see us on a work night?" Larry Mullen Jr. asks. "Boy, you must be tired. Have a sandwich."
Adam Clayton passes a tray of artisanal breads and cheeses. We eat. Bono tucks the book in his bag to read later on the band's private jet. We will take pictures together in which my excitement causes me to look stiffly terrified, and none of the pictures will be usable for Facebook and Twitter posting, unless I want to go viral as Fan Terrified by U2 When She Was Actually Thrilled to Meet Them and Give Her Novel as a Gift.
Wishful Thinking turns complicated quickly, no?
My dialing finger is ready. It also helps to chant: Second caller second caller second caller. Not that I'm superstitious, or thinking magically. That would just be silly.
*Update: I didn't win. Still love all involved & caught beautiful vicarious snippets of yesterday's Chicago show through social media.
Vicariously yours,
SL
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