As I anxiously awaited a phone call saying that I had finally gotten hired for a job, I realized that I desperately needed to find something to do, or I would go crazy. It was a way too hot Texas summer to go for walks, and since no job meant no money, the mall was off limits. I determined that the only thing left to do was the dreaded chore of closet clean-out. It has been put off long enough, and besides, by now I had other junk that needed closet space. As I moved from closet to closet, I mentally complained about all the meaningless stuff hiding in all the boxes. But when I got to the closet in the study my frustration changed to curiosity.
It was a plain heavy box. I unsealed it, trying to come up with any memory of what it could be. When I opened it up, there they were. Grandma’s spoons. Not the little spoons that had a cute little emblem or crest at the tip. These were ordinary soup spoons, and quite a few of them. I had an inkling of a memory trying to come forward, but I just couldn’t think of why in the world Grandma had all these spoons.
As I started taking them out, I realized that each spoon had been tagged with a note tied to the handle with a piece of blue yarn. Quickly realizing that most of the yarn had rotted, I tried to be careful while handling them but only a few managed to stay intact. Curious, I began to look more closely at the typed tags. Each had a date, name of the restaurant or café, who ate there, and some detail that made that day special. I began to ask myself if my grandmother was a kleptomaniac who “appropriated” spoons. But as I got further into my reading, I realized that these were her souvenirs from trips that she had taken.
My grandparents were fortunate enough to be able to travel in the 1930s, 40s and 50s. And they loved to just get in the car and go. Some were day/weekend trips, while some were long and thought-out routes with sights to see. Often times their son accompanied them; other times it was with siblings and in-laws. Their travel stops began to unfold in my mind, and I dug through the old photo albums until I found one where Grandma meticulously labeled each picture. Some of those tags matched that album.
The big trip was in 1937. The trip which my dad often boasted that he visited every state except the thirteen colonies. The route took them to Raton, New Mexico, the Petrified Forest and Grand Canyon. Grandma tagged one spoon as Jackson, Wyoming, which she deemed the “last of the old west.” The route went through Yellowstone and up to Glacier National Park. They travelled into Canada, throughout the Mid-West and into the Deep South. And when she could, Grandma got her spoon.
The few with tags still intact gave me an idea. I got on the internet to see if any of these places still existed. I felt I needed to share Grandma’s hobby with the owners or family members. I had determined that instead of sitting in an old box, the spoons needed to travel back to their homes. And that decision has started a very rewarding journey of my own.
I started with the local chambers of commerce, sending an e-mail explaining the circumstances of the spoon ending up on my dining room table. Almost all of them wrote back, and I could almost hear them giggling about her collection. Many of them gave me additional pieces of the puzzle. And as I finally found the address of the owner or family, I placed the spoon and tag in the mail with a little note of explanation.
One spoon was sent to the Santa Monica Pier to the historical museum that was being put together to show the history of the pier and ballroom. That spoon was tagged “Spade Cooley, a country singer who sang with the Sons of Pioneers and Roy Rogers and later had a radio show broadcast from the ballroom. I could just see Grandma and Grandpa tapping their feet and dancing to their favorite songs.
Another spoon was labeled “Marfa, Texas.” I suppose they went out there to see the Marfa Lights, but we are still looking for Jimmie’s Café. Yet another spoon was from a restaurant in Rockport, Texas. Sadly it had disappeared, but the local chamber told me there was an effort to reconstruct the giant papier mache crab that was the signature trademark of the Del Mar Café. Still another resides in the Port Aransas museum, in memory of the Sportsman Grille.
One spoon marked the occasion when they spent the Fourth of July at the bullfights just over the Texas border in Piedras Negras. And one told of “the day Earle and I escaped” to Goliad and ate at Ramona’s Café. I found two navy spoons, one from my dad’s ship, the U.S.S. Jason, from the mid 40s. Sadly, it cannot be returned as the ship was scrapped in 2008 after a long service career. However, the curator at the Naval History and Heritage Command in Washington, D.C. gave me some tips on how to find out what ship might have been moored in Corpus Christi in 1936.
There was one spoon that I knew where to send back home. It belonged to the Nimitz Hotel in Fredericksburg, Texas. The hotel no longer exists but the building itself now houses the Chester W. Nimitz National Museum of the Pacific War. I thought about keeping this one for sentimental times, but I just had to share it with them. It was an important one to me because without that trip, I may not have ever been born. It seems that my soon-to-be father, along with his parents, took his girlfriend there to eat lunch. After enjoying a meal at the hotel, they drove up to the nearby sight called “Enchanted Rock.” It was there that my dad proposed to my mom in October, 1949. They were married three months later.
Perhaps my most rewarding one to date was from the Montier Café in Port Lavaca, Texas. The chamber representative knew of the café and even provided me with the owner’s name and address. A little internet research showed that a family with that last name did, indeed, live there, and the age of the lady seemed about right. Not wanting to surprise her in an unpleasant way, I wrote a note to the “family” at that address explaining my find. I gave them my telephone number and e-mail address, and told them if they wanted the spoon to let me know and I would send it.
Two days later, the phone rang, and I ran to answer it, hoping it would be a job interview request. My disappointment lasted only a moment when the elderly lady introduced herself as Mrs. Montier. We had a very pleasant conversation about the “old days.” She told me that she bet my grandmother wasn’t a kleptomaniac because collecting spoons was the “rage” back in those days. She related that people would proudly display them on the coffee tables as conversation pieces, much like we do with books today. I promised to send the spoon to her. She said that she also sent me a letter giving me some background information on the café, and how my note made her day! She told me her grandson was interested in learning more about the family’s heritage and wanted to give him the spoon. I kept smiling the rest of the day, despite not getting a job call. What she didn’t understand is that she made my day!
I will continue to try to find a way to return the spoons or at least make contact with the family or owners in the hopes that they, too, can take a stroll down memory lane. And as I dig deeper into each background, I think I begin to understand Grandma in a different light. She never seemed totally content staying in one place for a very long time. Being a rancher’s daughter, she didn’t leave home very often except to go to town in Bandera, or an occasional trip to San Antonio. I think she must have been anxious to see the country and its magnificent diversity. And I am sure she wanted to add to her spoon collection.
Today, we use our cameras, recorders, and phones. We record a little sound bite, and once in a while we pull out the pictures and look and reminisce. But while Grandma took pictures, I think it was the spoons themselves that brought back her fondest memories.
I kind of like her way better.
— Cynthia Eckhart
