Uncle Sid circa 1920
I wish I had known Uncle Sid better. After all, I was to be named after him, no matter what. Sydney, spelled with a ‘y’ if I turned out to be a girl; otherwise, Sidney with an ‘i.’
Uncle Sid was actually my great-uncle – my maternal grandmother’s younger brother. The Sidney of his name was his father’s middle name and I’m not sure if it had been a family name even before that.
I do know from reading old family correspondence that my grandmother worried that Sid had never “found himself” – the older sister talking, I suppose. Their mother had died when Sid was a callow youth of twenty-two with few prospects yet in sight. I suppose it was natural for his older sister to slip into a bit of a maternal role.
To complicate matters, Sid fancied himself in love with my grandmother’s best friend, Eva. Eva was four or five years older than he and, while she was probably not oblivious of his feelings, they were not reciprocated. She had her eye on his father, Daniel Sidney, and to the eternal embarrassment of the entire family, she married him just a year after he had become a widower.
The story goes that Sid left home at that point, never to return again. I don’t think that is entirely true, but I do think relations with his father and Eva were forever frosty. Eventually, Sid married Aunt Beulah (about whom I know even less) and they lived for a time in Oysterville where Sid tried his hand at cranberry farming. Later they moved to Medford and bought a pear orchard. Aunt Bu began the Humane Society in Medford. They had one son who died in infancy. And that’s about the sum total of my knowledge.
During my childhood, we usually stayed with Aunt Bu and Uncle Sid on our trips from California. Medford was a good halfway point between the Bay Area and Oysterville. I remember that Aunt Bu’s sister, Poke, lived with them for a time. She’s the only person I ever knew with an ear trumpet – just the kind of thing to make an impression on a six or seven-year-old! I think her real name was Pocahontas and it seems to me they could trace their lineage back to the Pocahontas of the “Why don’t you speak for yourself, John?” fame.
Uncle Sid died when I was twelve. Ten years later, I spent the night in Medford with Aunt Bu one last time. My grandmother had died and she was my last connection with the Richardsons of that generation. I wish I had asked more questions… but isn’t that always the way?
A great story, especially the ear trumpet! I wish I’d asked more questions of my grandparents, too!