Following Some Cold Trails Into The Past

Ol' Blackie would excitedly bound from the car, kicking up leaves as he tried to pick up a scent. If he took off in a specific direction, tail in air, we knew he was on a warm trail. But if he ran aimlessly, going nowhere in particular, we would have to pick a better starting point. The trail was too cold to follow.

Not long ago we tried to follow some old trails. Most were cold, but every now and then we would pick up the scent... and off we'd go. When one fizzled out, there was no choice but to pick another spot and try again.

As a child, my wife Mary once lived on certain street in Little Rock. Their house had two front doors, side by side. And just to the south was an old cemetery where she would sometimes play. We wanted to find both house and cemetery and preserve that bit of nostalgia on film before the inevitable march of urban renewal erased them forever.

Though mangled by freeway construction, the street was easy to find. We inched along it, scrutinizing every house. No double doors... not even a glimmer of recognition or familiarity. It was definitely a cold trail, and a vacant lot and demolished sections of street hinted that we might have been too late.

Not so with the cemetery. It's fenced now, but we think we even found the small rock wall predominating her recollection.

The cemetery dates back to the Civil War era. Steeped in history, it afforded a profitable hour with the camera. Still, it would have been nice to have deciphered the proper relative locations of the house, school, cemetery and a little grocery store that memory also placed in that vicinity.

Later, we followed another trail into North Little Rock searching for a garage apartment near a wooden viaduct across some railroad tracks. We found an old viaduct--still intact--immediately. And right close by was what might once have been a garage apartment. But the absence of the garage itself is a little puzzling. Nevertheless, two curious, faint tire ruts leading right up to a wall suggested the possibility of a garage in bygone days.

Following the trail a bit further led us to both a school and a Boy's Club--right where memory said they should have been. Even though other landmarks couldn't be pinpointed, we were in the right place.

Why go to all this trouble? With modern society's mobility comes a sort of displacement, a loss of identity with the past. Many of us don't have an old home place that gives us a common physical heritage with our ancestors.

Instead, old memories may draw us to decaying neighborhoods and tumbledown cemeteries. There we may find enough of the past to sink some roots in a generation that has passed--or is quickly passing--from the scene.

But trails cool quickly, and tomorrow may be too late to find them.

Copyright 2000 James McAlister

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