Introduction

A number of years ago a friend of mine encouraged me to write down my family history and experiences. She said, “Do it for the children yet unborn.” I confess that I’ve spent a lot of time, especially in bed, spinning out narrative in my mind about the people, places and stories that constitute my “history.” When it’s come time to put these stories on paper, however, my creativity and enthusiasm have wilted like a collapsing balloon; oh well, put the project off for another day.

Maybe ‘another day’ has finally arrived, as here as I sit at the keyboard pumping on the keys, trying to get these ideas out to see if they make sense and if they might be of interest to those “children yet unborn.” Actually, “final arrival” has been a series of starts over a period of several years.

One encouraging reason for recording these thoughts is the fond memory of listening to my father relating what we called the “Cousin Jack stories.” Cousin Jacks were the English, Welsh, and especially the Cornish miners who had immigrated to North America. They constituted the majority of the inhabitants of Nevada City, California, where my father was born and raised.

My father had a set repertoire of stories ranging from the mischief that he and his brothers and friends created as children to the shenanigans of the Tommyknockers, the leprechaun-like elves who inhabited the shafts of the mines where most Cousin Jacks worked. My mother and I would laugh along with him and encourage him to tell them over and over again. They were the principal connection to my paternal roots, and they were what we now like to call an oral history.

Fortunately, I had him record a number of these stories on audio tape the last time he visited us in Glendora around 1985. I’ll refer to them in more detail later.

A second important reason is to examine and document the familial nonsense that went on within both sides of my family, and to some degree, my wife’s family, as well. There’s a certain comfort in knowing about the quirkiness and failings of your relatives, as well as their achievements and successes. It makes you more forgiving of your own shortcomings.

Additionally, the predominant theme of my thoughts and remembrances is the humor and tomfoolery of the people and incidents that I want to share with you, the reader.

Finally, I want to recognize the achievements and courage of those family members and other individuals who have shaped my values and my attitude and values. I hope that in some small way that I can speak about and for them in this small project. In a real sense this is not a chronicle about me, but rather a story about the times, places and people who have shaped and nurtured me.

I have no grand design on writing a biography or a memoir. Rather, this small work is a collection of vignettes that I have attempted to organize into logical groupings. My fervent hope is that my descendants will gain some understanding about themselves and that my friends will share some of the memories that we jointly participated in.

I’m a firm believer that we are captives of the genetic lottery that parcels out the components of our respective personalities. It’s the luck of the draw. When we look at our relatives, we can see where our gifts and foibles come from. By the grace of God we hope we’ve avoided some of their nuttiness and gained some of their strengths.

For all of our human chauvinism, we are learning that we may be no more important than to serve as hosts for our genes. So, my immortality, or my evolving genes’ immortality lies in you, my descendant. Additionally, one’s spirit is given over through stories and ideas. Hopefully, those who I tell you about will be able to transcend time and space to place themselves in your hearts.

James Miller Evans, 2005 - 2008

Orange, California