Bad luck, good luck

But for luck (and not just good luck), many, if not most of us, would not be here.

In 1949, a boy was born into my maternal Grandmother's family; on that auspicious occasion, the boy's grandfather, Howard Beck Cutting, typed a six-page letter, which included some tidbits of family history. We all know that lore almost always contains both bits of truth and bits of conjecture as we strive to fill in the blanks (in both personal and world history), but it does make for a good story.

And so it was with the improbable tale of how a young man from Massachusetts met a young woman from Tasmania. I'll let excerpts from Howard's letter tell the tale:

You know Tommy, you had a very narrow escape from not being here at all. Way back in 1869 a train had stopped at a little station in California to take on passengers, and having done so it had started up to continue on its way. A man running to catch that train failed to do so by a slight margin. Perhaps he was very much disgusted with himself for having missed it, however, I am sure that he was glad he had done so. If he had caught it there would have been no Tommy Cutting. 

[…]

Great-great grandfather and great grandfather had learned the painting trade and they went into business in San Francisco. They accumulated some property, however, for one reason or another such pieces were sold, presumably at a profit. It was during this period of their work in San Francisco that great grandfather [Eugene Augustus] Cutting took a day off in 1869 to go to Redwood City. A railroad had been constructed from San Francisco to San Jose 50 miles south of the city. He was the man who missed the train back to San Francisco and during the interval while awaiting the arrival of the next train he met Mary Beck.

Drawn by the rush for gold in California, the family of Eugene Augustus Cutting had come to San Francisco from Sudbury, Massachusetts; The promise of gold and riches also brought Mary Beck's family to California from Launceston, Tasmania. Eugene and Mary were married in 1869 in Redwood City, San Mateo, California, and had four children. 

As if that wasn't enough good fortune, they lived through the San Francisco earthquake and fire of 1906. The fire was ultimately stopped only six blocks from their home in the Mission District.

Eugene Augustus Cutting and Mary Beck

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As a postscript, the baby boy to whom the letter was addressed passed away just a few months ago, after two-year battle with a disease that finally took him, all too soon. 

Highs and lows

We all have them in our lives, the highs and lows, all part of the texture and color of our lives. But some folks seem to attract drama that heightens the peaks and deepens the valleys.

Take my 9th great grandmother, Sarah Warren. She was born in Watertown, Massachusetts in 1643, a heavily Puritan colony. As was correct for a young woman, she married a man named Robert Prince in the age of nineteen, and they had two sons, most certainly a high point for them. It was common in those days to live close to family, and Robert purchased a 150-acre parcel in Salem, adjacent to his sister and her husband, Captain John Putnam. A great setup: family support right next door, and the prospect of two strapping young men to help maintain their farm.

Unfortunately, good things rarely last, and Robert died prematurely in 1674, leaving Sarah with a farm and two young boys (10 & 12) to care for. He left the land to his sons, with Sarah as the trustee, and his brother-in-law the executor. Sarah hired an indentured Irishman (much younger than herself), Alexander Osborne, to help with the farm. And then, to make matters worse in a small community, she fell in love with him and married him--after having lived under the same roof with him.

She might have survived this transgression with a smudge on her reputation. But for whatever reason, she tried to break her late husband's will and take control of the farm for herself and her new husband. This caused a huge rift in the family, as Capt. Putnam defended her childrens' rights. The whole issue took its toll on Sarah, whose health began failing, which meant she was not always present at Sunday meetings. This, combined with her independence and efforts to upset the "natural" order of things means that she was a threat to the stability of the village and its inhabitants--in particular, the powerful Putnam family.

In early 1692, Thomas Putnam, his brother Edward, and two others rode to Salem to file complaints against Sarah Osborne, Sarah Good, and Tituba for wreaking "mischief" against Ann Putnam Jr. and three local girls. Despite the fact that she had been bedridden for over a year, she was arrested and taken to Salem for questioning. Despite her insistence that she was not a witch, she was jailed based on the testimony of three pre-teen girls. She spent nine days in prison--shackled to prevent her from wreaking more "mischief"--before she died on May 10, 1692, the first victim of what became known as the Salem Witch Hunt.

University of Virginia student Meghan Carroll in her paper "Salem Witch Trials in History and Literature" asks:

"Is a woman who betrays her society's social and family conventions worthy of an accusation of witchcraft? Not in today's society, but in seventeenth century New England these offenses were socially and economically serious, and a threat to the divinely sanctioned social order. Specifically, the Putnam family's economic interests and inheritance grew less secure by Sarah's attempt at social and economic independence. Consequently, but not surprisingly, it was members of the Putnam family who accused Osborne."

The phrase "witch hunt" has been bantered about recently, and at a time when women are finding their social and economic gains eroding in a society still governed by men protecting their economic interests. It does beg the question about the assumption that we have come a long way.

Interior of the old dungeon, old witch jail, Salem, Mass., circa 1935