Frank James Vagg

Frank Vagg, or more precisely, a photograph of Mr. Vagg, lives on a shelf in our house. Mr. Vagg was born in February 14, 1886 in Niagara County, New York. At some point in his childhood/youth he moved west, to Saco, Montana. There he met Gertrude Crutchfield. She became his wife. They continued their westward migration sometime between 1910 and 1920. Frank and Gertrude lived in Bremerton, Washington in 1920, and Vancouver, Washington in 1930. Mr. Vagg died on April 22, 1936 in Vancouver. He is buried in Park Hill Cemetery, his wife, Gertrude Vagg McCracken was buried by his side some 32 years later.

I have to wonder if there is anyone in the world who actually remembers Frank Vagg. Frank and Gertrude had no children. But is there a niece or nephew who recalls their uncle? A child who lived next door who remembers the affable neighbor? Is there anyone else who has a picture of Mr. Vagg? Or am I in possession of the only remembrance of what, I must assume, was a fine man.

After her husband died, Gertrude Vagg married Ira McCracken. She became the only grandmother I can really say I knew.

But what of Mr. Vagg? He is my mother’s second step-mother’s first husband. Does that count for anything?

I obtained his picture when my parents moved out of their house on the coast. The photo is in a great frame. I had full intentions of taking Mr. Vagg out and replacing him with a more Mac-appropriate picture. But I couldn’t do it. I looked at him. For over sixty years he had inhabited that frame. Grandma kept him all that time. Mother kept him all that time. I had no other options; I had to make a home for Mr. Vagg.

I can’t help but wonder if I am the only person left with, if not a memory, at least a thought of him. Am I all the shields Mr. Vagg from an unknown oblivion?

Mr. Vagg, I owe you. You gave me Grandma. I’m sure that is not how you wanted to be remembered, but I, and my sisters, may be your only heritage. Thank you.

And to the next generation: one of you is going to end up with Mr. Vagg. You will cherish him and know that Great-Grandma didn’t hang with jerks. He was a good man.