Reinventing Yourself

There was a lecture on ‘The Great Gatsby’ by two professors at the University of St. Thomas recently. During that discussion, the question came up about the ‘American Dream’ and if F. Scott Fitzgerald was really talking about this iconic (really world-wide) focus on success and prosperity in his novel. Is ‘The Great Gatsby’ really a metaphor for the great American dream? If so, then what is success?

In this Trump-infused world, many have been led to believe that the accumulation of material goods such a money, cars, homes, and material possessions are true signs of success. In the real world that so many of us live in, the true sign of success is doing what you want to do with your life and enjoying it. Of course, that trite quote doesn’t get a lot of ‘hits,’ ‘downloads’ or ‘notices’ in our over-caffeinated latest, greatest, most stupendous (often outrageous) social media statements.

This focus on success wasn’t always so cloudy in this country. There seemed to be a clearly delineated pathway in terms of financial advancements for the average person. After World War Two, there was unprecedented growth with the GDP. For several decades, the middle class grew and prospered. Unfortunately, that growth slowed and gradually lost its luster beginning in the late 60s and early 70s.

The intertwinement and entanglements of business and political interests had been going on for a long time. It was an open secret that lobbyists weld an enormous power in Washington for the vested good of special interests and the moneyed elite. It was the middle class who were getting the short end of the dollar stick in most of these transactions, arrangements and agreements made into law.

Norman Lear’s autobiography ‘This Too I Get to Experience’ touched on the same subject matter……short-sighted vision instead of long-term perspective. Lear talks about a conversation he had with a Harvard professor who lamented ‘the most rapacious societal disease of our time: short-term thinking.’

The professor explained: “There will be a time very shortly when young people-very young people- will be looking into computer screens. They will be looking directly into screens, not to the side, so there will be no peripheral vision; they won’t be looking over the top, so they won’t see what’s ahead; they’ll be staring straight ahead into those screens, blind to everything ahead and around them.”

“Money managers and financial product traders will be selling, buying, and swapping financial products around the world. With that narrow focus, like a horse with blinders, they will have more control and hold more power in those split seconds than we can today imagine. And all of it entirely focused on short-term gains.”

Back in 2008, the near collapse of our world-wide financial system, and Wall Street in particular, should have been a wakeup call for all Americans to pay more attention to their wallets and events happening around them. Unfortunately, not much seems to have changed over the ensuing years. Every day there are new financially-coated products, events, angles, schemes, and ‘can’t lose’ facades presented to the general public.

To that end, reinvention and financial literacy should be a topic of interest that every American should acquaint themselves with. ‘What is financial literacy all about, you may ask? Essentially, it is the ability to use one’s knowledge and skills to effectively manage financial resources, ideally for a lifetime of financial well-being. Indeed, financial literacy is something we all have to work on each day—it’s part of our ongoing education.

Despite being a relatively new field of study, financial literacy has become increasingly important for governments and citizens – without it there can be broad implications for the economic health and stability of countries.

It simply comes down to that old, worn, yet so true cliché: Let the buyer beware. We all have the responsibility to listen and learn for ourselves instead of letting someone else do it for us. To use common sense instead of group-think and to forge our own path to enlightenment instead of following the crowd. Reinvention is another approach to ponder.

My own story of growing up poor has been chronicled in many blogs over the years. Again, it wasn’t something my friends and I were acutely aware of aside from the lack of a family car, no summer vacations and few material things around the house. Most of us started working at an early age and accepted that as ‘par for the course.’ I chose a different path for myself.

Sharon began doing chores on the farm when she was six years old. If the bulk tank wasn’t cleaned twice a day, her dad couldn’t sell his milk as grade A and there wouldn’t be a milk check at the end of the month. She remembers growing up with no sink in the kitchen but a shiny new bulk tank instead in the barn. She also chose to not follow her peers and remain on the farm. Higher education and the world of academia beckoned her attention.

One of the St. Thomas professors commented that usually it isn’t the ‘most likely to succeed’ senior who becomes the artist, writer, inventor, etc. More often than not, it’s the outcast, the shunned, the under-represented. But it’s not one of ‘those folks.’ The IN crowd need not apply.

Reinvention is one approach to seize the opportunities present and not follow the masses. As nebulous as words like ambition, hunger, and striving might be, the simple fact is that nothing much has changed over the years. The Gilded Age and Nick’s ‘roaring twenties’ both manifested the same trite cliches and banner headlines. Today, one’s knowledge of the truth behind the façade goes a long way in this new world of podcasts, social media posts, and TikTok nonsense.

Yes, prices have gone up, some opportunities have disappeared and sometimes the future can be a dark and bleary horizon for a lot of folks. But the simple fact remains that a lot of the cliches about success we’ve heard over the years still ring true. These are all simple, sometimes simplistic but true statements. Bottom line; it’s all up to you.

Do I know if the American Dream still exists? Frankly, I don’t know but I have to believe it does…and has for generations. It’s still up to each of us to find our own way in this crazy, exciting, sometimes contradictory world. If not us, then who?

My Name was LaTulippe

I’ve never been a big fan of Genealogy or family trees. I tend to dismiss those infamous tall tales handed down through the ranks about the ‘good old days.’ The past is the past and can’t be changed. Or so I thought.

My mother with Marlene and I

Perhaps this laissez-faire attitude comes from my own upbringing. Being raised in a single parent household we never recognized the absence of my father. So it was hardly an incentive for me to care about my own ancestry. Today we’d probably categorize ours as a dysfunctional family. But it didn’t seem that way to my sister and me at the time. We were poor (maybe lower middle class is a better moniker) but so were most of our friends. We had a place to call home and went to a good grade school so little else mattered.

So it was with only mild interest that I watched my wife begin her search for our respective family trees through Ancestry.com. Sharon very quickly became immersed in the search and began tabulating ancestors on both sides of our family. Thus far she has researched more than 152 individuals. She was able to go back to the 1600s in Germany. The oldest person she’s found was Pierre Helle who was born in 1676. France, Germany and Canada seem to be the favorite countries of origin.

As she clicked along, some fascinating facts began to emerge.

For example, there has always been a ‘George’ Schumacher for at least eight generations back on her side of the family. Her descendants came from a small village in Germany, no surprise there. One distant relative served in the Illinois Infantry Regiment, Company E, Unit 31.

My mother, Hildegarde Noll, with her parents and brother

My mother’s roots followed a much similar lineage. Her grandparents also go back to another part of Germany. There was a grandfather who fought in the Civil War. He went in as a private and came out the same. But he did survive. Our assumption is that he probably got his farmland in Sterns County from the government for his time in the service. That seemed to happen to a lot of returning veterans. Most of my distant relatives come from Sterns County or nearby.

Another relative was rumored to have had thirty kids although that hasn’t been confirmed. Now that’s a shame because it would have been a reality TV series, guaranteed.

My Father, Arthur LaComb, and I - circa 1944

My Father and I

My Mother and I

The real mystery begins with my father; no surprise there. As far back as I can remember there was never any mention of his ever being alive. Growing up, there were no pictures of him in our home nor any references to him at extended family gatherings. It was as if he never existed.

I was too young to understand the significance of his absence in my life. The only comment I ever got from my Aunts was that it was OK not having a father and (hint hint) I was probably better off that way. My Uncles had nothing to say…about anything.

Growing up, I always sensed a kind of animosity on my aunt’s part toward my sister and me. I could never figure that one out. Now with age and this research it’s become a little clearer. Doesn’t hurt any less but it’s more explainable. As time passed I became aware of real families with a father and a mother…just like in the chapter books at school.

Our Home on Randolph Ave

Photo courtesy of Jerry Hoffman

Photo courtesy of Jerry Hoffman

                                                 

Back in the early fifties on Randolph Avenue, it was just the three of us; my mother, my sister and I. We were each dealing with life on different levels. My sister has a lot of memories of that period growing up in Saint Paul. I have practically none. I’m not sure what that says or means but it remains a fact.

I vaguely remembered that my father’s lineage was French Canadian. Beyond that… little else. He had been married once before. There was a lot of confusion about whether or not there had been a divorce or annulment with his first marriage. He married my mother but we’re not sure when. The reasons for their separation and subsequent divorce had been clouded by denial, mis-statements and confusion. About the time my Mother decided to come clean, the fog of aging and miles traveled made any clear recollection of times past just a guessing game on her part.

Now, thirteen years after my mother’s death, Sharon is finally making some headway on unwrapping the mystery of my father. It’s been one long and arduous journey fraught with poor records, incorrect dates, family lies and purposeful misstatements to protect the innocent…or so they thought.

Stumbling back in time, we found out that the core of my ancestors settled in Quebec, Canada. Their descendants came from France. It’s probably too late to look for that French Chateau or three-story Paris walkup in my name.

One of my grandfathers was a ‘wagon loader.’ Laugh as you might, today he’d probably be working for UPS in logistics and making a nice income. Back in my college years, I used to load and unload trucks in the dead of winter. Now I know where those deft skills came from.

St. Louis Grade School Graduation circa 1957

The French nuns at the little French school in downtown Saint Paul had a huge impact on my life even if I didn’t know it at the time. When the school was built back in the 1873 it was meant for the children of second and third generation French settlers.

By the time my sister and I started school there, it was a cosmopolitan smorgasbord of ethnic groups. There were Irish, Italian, German, Spanish and oriental students. Almost all of them lived along the fringe of the downtown loop. Unlike all of our white counterparts where we lived in Highland Park, it made for some interesting playground banter.

Turns out, I love Cajun music and French cinema; especially romantic comedies. I love the gentility and flow of the French language. I loved Paris last summer and want to return there soon. Something French must have rubbed off on me. I tried to explain that in a past blog entitled ACatholic Education.

It turns out there was a critical junction or fork in my ancestral road. The road split and one branch was named Lacombe and the other LaTulippe. The plot of flowers was on my grand-mother’s side. I never knew her but she must have been a wise woman to have chosen Lacombe. At least I didn’t have to defend myself in grade school from some bully mocking my name.

Another interesting fact was the evolution of the name LaComb. If you go far enough back there used to be an ‘e’ at the end of Lacombe. At another point, the ‘c’ became capitalized.

I was surprised to see on my birth certificate that my name was spelled: Dennis. When I asked my mother why it had been changed she had a simple explanation. She said that in first grade, the French nuns informed her that the proper spelling of my name was Denis. Mom knew better than to mess with the French nuns.

Marlene and I

That’s OK; I’ve grown quite accustomed to Denis…and besides it’s not too flowery.