A Change in the Family History (February 29, 2008)

Grace & Dean Bradley--50th Anniversary (1961)

Don & Dean Bradley (1961)

     The date that my family history dramatically changed still lingers in my memory. But, before I lose that memory, I decided I had better consign it to paper for the family record.

     The date was May 12, 1978. I remember it well because my father had died one week before on May 5, Cinco de Mayo. It was mid-morning that day when our phone rang.

     “Hello. Is Don Bradley there?” a sweet woman’s voice asked.  When my father had died, we asked the phone company to forward his calls to our number.

     “I’m very sorry to tell you that he died a week ago.  I am his daughter. Is there any way I could help you?”

    “ My name is Alice Gappa.  I have known your parents for a long time.  Is your mom still alive?”

     “No, I’m sorry to say she died two years ago.  Where are you right now?”

     “I am at a phone booth by the freeway.  I was just driving by Davis on my way home to Tacoma, Washington from visiting family in the Bay Area.  I decided I’d just stop and call to see if your dad was home so that I could come visit him.  Do you mind if I tell you something about your dad?”

     “I’d love to hear it.”  I said.

     “Did you know your dad was adopted?”

     “My mother always said she thought my dad had been adopted.”  There was a picture on her dresser of my father’s maiden Aunt Jane, who was Grandpa Dean’s sister. She had been an army nurse in World War I—the period during which Don was born—and she bore a strong and uncanny resemblance to Dad. 

     Grandpa Dean was about five feet, one inches tall and was baldheaded except for a rim of white hair around his bald spot.   

His appearance was nothing like my Dad’s when they were both sixty years old.   Dad at sixty was six foot one and had a full head of hair; it had a few grey streaks but was mostly dark brown. He was tall and skinny, while Grandpa Dean and Grandma Grace were both short and stout.  Mom always said she hoped Grandma Grace would tell her that Dad was adopted, but it never happened.

     “I found out because my husband, Frank, was your dad’s brother; they were fraternal twins.  Before the boys were born, both Don and Frank’s parents, who were best friends, moved from Superior, Wisconsin across Lake Superior to Duluth, Minnesota. When they returned a year later to Superior, they each had a baby son.”

     “Yes, my mother knew about the move and that Dean and Grace had returned with the baby boy.  That was another reason Mom suspected he had been adopted.”

     I didn’t bother to mention to Alice one more reason why my mother had always suspected that Dad was adopted. Grandma Grace was a chronic complainer about aches and pains; but Mom often commented on the fact that, in all the years she had known Grace, she had never even mentioned her labor and delivery. I’m sure my mother would have been very pleased that I was finally hearing the truth about the family history.

     Alice went on with the story. “The boys played together as children, never knowing they were brothers.  Grace and Dean moved to Klamath Falls, Oregon when Don was a junior in high school.  Eventually, Frank’s folks also moved west.  The boys kept in touch and, when we were married, I got to meet your mom.  I, like your mother, always suspected Frank was adopted and I too hoped that his mom would tell him before she died; but she never did.  It was her sister who told me the story of the twins after Frank’s death and that is why I decided I should stop and see your folks.”

     I invited Alice over to our house and we spent the rest of the day together, discussing our families.  Although Alice’s husband had died recently, she brought pictures to share.  We both agreed how sad it was that Don and Frank never knew they were brothers, but it was wonderful that they had grown up together and were always friends.

     We kept in touch with Alice for several years.  When we took our family for a trip to Washington, we stopped in Tacoma to visit her. One year our Christmas card to Alice was returned marked: Not at this address. This led us to suspect that she had died and we never heard from her again. We always felt fortunate to have met her and found out about our extended family; unfortunately, we never met her children nor obtained their addresses, so we weren’t able to continue a dialogue with that side of the family.

       I will always consider Grandpa Dean and Grandma Grace to be my grandparents, as they were wonderful to me. But it is nice to know the more complete family history to pass on to our children and grandchildren.