An Unexpected Journey
When faced with a decision, I find there are two types of people. The first type who thinks before they act and the second type who act and then think about the consequences. I’m somewhere in between. In this case, my immediate reaction was to find the box’s owner.
At this time, you may be saying to yourself “why not just throw them away” or “why care about some old letters” and as you think this to yourself, I can assure you that is exactly what people asked me. My reply to them and to you is simple: these letters belong to someone, someone who thought they were special, and regardless of how they remained in this basement for the past 60 years they are important. I would ask that you ponder this: “don’t ever think you would be forgotten . . .”.
I set to inspecting the box’s content to find some answers. As I do, my thoughts turned to how I would find these answers and my questions were growing. Most intriguing, was how this box came to be in the basement. The letters date from 1956 through 1958. Who was the author? Who was the recipient of these letters? Finally, the most troubling question came to mind, would I be able to find the owner or family to return them to?
I collected the contents and that evening I began sifting through for a name, address, or something to set me in the right direction. I hadn’t realized just how many letters there were until I started putting them in chronological order and found that there were 239 in total. After hours of work, I was able to put together some basic information. In addition to the letters, I found an old driver’s license, a motor vehicle registration dated 1955, and a selective service registration certificate.
The recipient of these letters was Mr. Otis Puriefoy, Jr. an African American who in 1956 was a Private in the U.S. Army and stationed at Fort Gordon, Georgia. According to his driver’s license, he was born on August 11, 1933, and resided at 970 Delsea Drive, Glassboro, NJ. In 1955 Private Puriefoy, Jr. was 21 years old, five foot nine and 169 pounds with black hair and brown eyes.
Feeling good about my amateur detective work thus far, I, of course turned to Google. Unfortunately, and to my astonishment, I received no hits for Private Puriefoy, Jr. but I did find information for an Otis Puriefoy, Sr., born December 26, 1892 and died March 1970 at age 77. He was also a resident of Glassboro, NJ. Surely this must be his father, but how can there not be anything about Otis Jr.
At present, Otis would be 85 years old, and it would not be unreasonable to assume he would still be with us, but how to find him? Faced with the reality that this would not be easy without more information, I decided I was going to read the letters.
With great trepidation I turn to the letters for answers. Perhaps I could find some names within the pages that could lead me to Otis or his family. My trepidation comes from the fact that I respect people’s privacy, and there is nothing more private or personal than a letter written from one person to another. But this would be the only way to continue this journey, and so my decision is made.
Not to stray too far, but I do feel compelled to say that the art of writing a letter has been lost. The beauty of taking pen to paper, to converse with another person has given way to text messages usually written in cryptic abbreviations or emails. That being said, it was truly a pleasure to read such well-versed correspondence and to see such beautiful penmanship.
I began my research with the earliest letter postmark, September 1956. As the envelopes do not contain the sender’s name or address, I hoped the contents would at least provide the author’s first name in its closing. I immediately notice this person is articulate and polite. I then look to the letter’s closing and find it has been signed by Mil. Finally, a name, but who is she, his wife?
As I would discover through these letters, the story of Otis and Mil would have many layers. It gives us a glimpse into a still turbulent time in history from September of 1956 through June of 1958; of a couple in love and the loneliness they experienced while apart; a time of change in community; and how they would survive and eventually make a better life.
At this time, you may be saying to yourself “why not just throw them away” or “why care about some old letters” and as you think this to yourself, I can assure you that is exactly what people asked me. My reply to them and to you is simple: these letters belong to someone, someone who thought they were special, and regardless of how they remained in this basement for the past 60 years they are important. I would ask that you ponder this: “don’t ever think you would be forgotten . . .”.
I set to inspecting the box’s content to find some answers. As I do, my thoughts turned to how I would find these answers and my questions were growing. Most intriguing, was how this box came to be in the basement. The letters date from 1956 through 1958. Who was the author? Who was the recipient of these letters? Finally, the most troubling question came to mind, would I be able to find the owner or family to return them to?
I collected the contents and that evening I began sifting through for a name, address, or something to set me in the right direction. I hadn’t realized just how many letters there were until I started putting them in chronological order and found that there were 239 in total. After hours of work, I was able to put together some basic information. In addition to the letters, I found an old driver’s license, a motor vehicle registration dated 1955, and a selective service registration certificate.
The recipient of these letters was Mr. Otis Puriefoy, Jr. an African American who in 1956 was a Private in the U.S. Army and stationed at Fort Gordon, Georgia. According to his driver’s license, he was born on August 11, 1933, and resided at 970 Delsea Drive, Glassboro, NJ. In 1955 Private Puriefoy, Jr. was 21 years old, five foot nine and 169 pounds with black hair and brown eyes.
Feeling good about my amateur detective work thus far, I, of course turned to Google. Unfortunately, and to my astonishment, I received no hits for Private Puriefoy, Jr. but I did find information for an Otis Puriefoy, Sr., born December 26, 1892 and died March 1970 at age 77. He was also a resident of Glassboro, NJ. Surely this must be his father, but how can there not be anything about Otis Jr.
At present, Otis would be 85 years old, and it would not be unreasonable to assume he would still be with us, but how to find him? Faced with the reality that this would not be easy without more information, I decided I was going to read the letters.
With great trepidation I turn to the letters for answers. Perhaps I could find some names within the pages that could lead me to Otis or his family. My trepidation comes from the fact that I respect people’s privacy, and there is nothing more private or personal than a letter written from one person to another. But this would be the only way to continue this journey, and so my decision is made.
Not to stray too far, but I do feel compelled to say that the art of writing a letter has been lost. The beauty of taking pen to paper, to converse with another person has given way to text messages usually written in cryptic abbreviations or emails. That being said, it was truly a pleasure to read such well-versed correspondence and to see such beautiful penmanship.
I began my research with the earliest letter postmark, September 1956. As the envelopes do not contain the sender’s name or address, I hoped the contents would at least provide the author’s first name in its closing. I immediately notice this person is articulate and polite. I then look to the letter’s closing and find it has been signed by Mil. Finally, a name, but who is she, his wife?
As I would discover through these letters, the story of Otis and Mil would have many layers. It gives us a glimpse into a still turbulent time in history from September of 1956 through June of 1958; of a couple in love and the loneliness they experienced while apart; a time of change in community; and how they would survive and eventually make a better life.
Before I continue, I should remind you of our history and bring attention to the year “1956”. For many, the year says it all and for others, the reminder would be that this was still a time of segregation and civil unrest. For me, this journey would be both a history lesson and a reminder that this couple actually lived through and experienced it themselves. I am grateful to have learned this firsthand, not from a text book, but from these letters in time, and the oral accounts their families would soon share with me.
Are you familiar with the phase “driving while black?” The following is a quote from 1956, as Mil wrote to Otis, which highlights this period in time.
"Jim Moore said that all his relatives are in Augusta, Georgia and if he could, when Christmas comes, we would all get together and show up down there and have a good time. I told him that you were pretty miserable in that town, but he said that there are a lot of nice places to go in the colored people section but you just need to know where you’re going and everything."
Traveling for African Americans during a time of Jim Crow laws, Sundown Towns and a shortage of hotels and restaurants was a reality that continued well into 1964. Although Mil writes little of her experiences during her travels, I can’t help but wonder what she may have encountered herself.
Note:
In addition to the movie entitled “Green Book,” there is also a one-hour documentary which aired on the Smithsonian channel that explains Victor Green’s goal in helping African Americans in their travels across the U.S. from 1936 through 1967. The book would also spur entrepreneurship of African Americans at this time, to establish hotels, restaurants and other businesses. I strongly recommend seeing the move or documentary, as it helped me to have a better understanding of what the above quote from Mil may have meant on many levels.
I was born after this period, but still saw the aftermath during my junior high and high school years in the 70’s and 80’s, when racial riots would occur almost weekly at my school and police would be called to maintain peace.
Although we live in the 21st century there is still the reality of racism. I would soon have that “hard” conversation and lesson on this issue with my new friend Denise, whose roll in this story you will soon come to learn.
Unfortunately, the hard reality is “we” still have a long way to go. As Denise so elegantly put it, through God and the love that he shows all people, families are now trying to teach their children two very important lessons. The first lesson, of course, is who they are and where they come from. The second is through God and faith, we are all equal, and there should be no room for hatred or racism. These lessons, as parents, are the ones we should be teaching our children, and what children learn or take from these lessons is up to them. After all, true change is made in remembering our past and learning from those mistakes.