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Something Else: Knowledge of past events limited by the 'edge of memory'

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by Eric Marotta, Editor

I recently had a glimpse at the edge of memory -- the limit to what we, the living, can give witness to.

It was while speaking with some of the oldest folks in the area about what things were like back in 1935, when Northfield Village got its final boundary after Northfield Center and Sagamore Hills went their own way.

Mostly in their 80s, these folks were not even teenagers back in the middle of the Great Depression.

They offered some tantalizing glimpses of what things were like.

For example, Esther Early, who has lived in Northfield Center all her life, recalled roller skating with friends more than four miles down Route 82 to "the hill" in Twinsburg -- located just west of the Interstate 480 interchange.

She told me that though the road was paved with concrete, they would hardly see a single car the entire trip.

I wonder what the view was like before the interstate came to dominate the landscape there.

Other roads weren't paved, such as most residential streets in the village.

However, folks worked hard to keep the ditches open and to maintain the town's infrastructure, said Dorothy Nemeth -- another life-long resident.

Especially her father.

Back in the 1930s, Nemeth said, people didn't have refrigerators, so her father was an important man. Mr. Nemeth delivered ice he stored in a building behind his vegetable garden on Northfield Road, where Miller Auto Sales is now located.

He traveled as far as Solon to make his deliveries, she said.

Nemeth also recalled that her father had work clearing ditches in the village through the Works Projects Administration.

But her father had other sources of income as well, Nemeth said.

He raised pigeons, chickens, guinea pigs and rabbits and sold ears of corn for 25 cents per dozen.

* * *

The folks I spoke with are at the edge of memory.

Most of those who saw the first roads paved, the first electric lines installed and the first running water lines -- all big changes -- are long gone.

Probably some details would emerge via a detailed search of records from musty government basements. Other windows to the past would come from old newspaper stories, or private letters.

But they wouldn't tell the same story as an eyewitness.

After covering the 2007 Bicentennial of Northfield Township, and more recently, Northfield Village's diamond jubilee, I've sorted through a lot of historical information.

And I've found quite a few subjects that could be the object of some interesting research.

For example, Bessie Goosman's "History of Olde Northfield Township," is an intriguing source of information, spanning more than 150 years of history.

One chapter describes a series of brass bands that were in existence from 1846 to 1907 -- that's nearly 60 years.

But who alive today could possibly have any memory of those bands -- even an anecdotal tale passed down by a grandparent?

And where would one find records of their performances, the members performing, the songs played and how many turned out to listen?

* * *

There is a limit to what we mortals can remember.

I noticed the other day a police station in a certain town was named after two individuals. The building is only a few decades old.

I called the city and asked a dispatcher if she knew who either of the buildings' namesakes were.

She didn't.

Now, imagine what it would feel like to have a building named after you. For such an honor, one would have to spend a lifetime earning the respect and admiration of one's peers.

All that, and a few years later, people who work there every day have no idea.

Only the most important things make it past the edge of memory.

We remember the roller skating, a devoted father's love and the fact that a band once filled the air with music.

It's been said before, but each generation has to learn it for themselves: In time, even the greatest monuments will crumble. All that will remain are the memories.

E-mail: emarotta@recordpub.com

Phone: 330-688-0088 ext. 3171