I wrote ABC Biographies for my great-grandparents Charles and Georgianna (Kemp) Auble in ABC Biography of #14 Charles Auble (1849-1916) of New Jersey, Indiana, Illinois, and California and ABC Biography of #15 Georgianna (Kemp) Auble (1868-1952) of Ontario, Illinois, and California, based on my genealogical research. In those biographies, mention is made of the family moving to San Diego in about 1911.
I wondered "Why did they move to San Diego?" It's an important question because my grandmother, Emily Auble, was 12 years old at the time and married my grandfather in 1918, so this move greatly affected my family history and my life -- Emily was a wonderful wife, mother, and grandmother.
I asked my AI assistant Anthropic Claude Sonnet 4.5 to create an "It might have been this way" story about the discussion leading up to the move, noting the weather, schooling, work opportunities and support of Georgianna's brothers. Here is the story:
(AI NotebookLM Infographic - Auble Family 1911)
A Conversation in Chicago, 1911
The evening light filtered through the lace curtains of the parlor at 611 West 76th Street, casting long shadows across the worn floorboards. Charles Auble sat in his favorite chair, the one with the slightly frayed arms that Georgia had been after him to re-upholster for the past two years. He held a letter in his hands, reading it for what must have been the third time that day.
Georgia emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. At forty-three, she still had the energy and determination that had brought her from Ontario to Chicago more than twenty years ago. She glanced at her husband and recognized the contemplative look on his face.
"It's from Franklin again, isn't it?" she asked, settling into the chair across from him.
Charles looked up, his mustache twitching slightly as he considered his response. "Yes. And from James too. They've both written this time." He paused, folding the letter carefully. "They want us to come, Georgia. To San Diego."
Georgia had expected this. Her brothers had been writing for months now, their letters filled with descriptions of endless sunshine, orange groves, and opportunities in California's fastest-growing city. "And what are you thinking?" she asked carefully.
Charles stood and walked to the window, looking out at the Chicago street below. A coal wagon rattled past, and the familiar smell of the stockyards drifted in on the spring breeze—a smell so constant in Chicago that most residents barely noticed it anymore. But Charles noticed it today.
"I'm sixty-one years old, Georgia," he said quietly. “These winters..." He trailed off, rubbing his shoulder. "This past winter nearly did me in. The cold gets into your bones, makes the painting work harder. My hands don't work like they used to when it's freezing."
Georgia nodded. She'd watched him struggle through the brutal Chicago winter, seen him come home with fingers so cold he could barely hold a cup of tea. "The climate would be better," she agreed. "Franklin says it's seventy degrees in January. Can you imagine? No more shoveling snow, no more ice on the sidewalks."
"And the work," Charles continued, warming to the subject. "Franklin says San Diego is growing like mad. New houses going up everywhere, hotels, buildings. They need painters, Georgia. Good painters who know their trade. The union's establishing itself out there—Local 333. I could transfer my membership, be part of building something new."
Georgia smiled at the enthusiasm creeping into his voice. This was the Charles she'd fallen in love with—the one who'd courted her with poems and flowers, who still had dreams despite his years. But she had concerns of her own.
"What about Emily?" she asked. "She's almost twelve now. The schools here..."
"The schools in San Diego are good," Charles interrupted, pulling another letter from his pocket—he'd clearly been doing his research. "Franklin sent me information. They've got a new high school, built just a few years ago. Modern facilities, good teachers. And think about it, Georgia—she could go to school without trudging through snow and slush half the year. She could grow up with the ocean nearby, fresh air, sunshine."
Georgia's expression softened at the thought of her daughter. Emily was a bright girl, doing well in her Chicago school, but the thought of her growing up in a healthier climate, with more opportunities, was appealing. "She's never seen the ocean," Georgia mused. "Neither have I."
"Neither have I," Charles admitted with a slight laugh. "Sixty-one years and I've never seen the Pacific Ocean. Maybe it's time."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Georgia spoke again, her practical nature asserting itself. "It's a big change, Charles. We've been in Chicago for... how long have you been here now?"
"Since '88," Charles said. "Twenty-three years. Long enough to know every corner of this city, every job, every painter in the union." He paused. "Long enough to know I'm ready for something different."
"But starting over," Georgia pressed. "We'd have to sell the furniture we can't take, pack everything else, buy train tickets. And when we get there, we'd need to find a house, get you established with work..."
"Your brothers would help," Charles said. "They've already said as much. And Georgia, I've been painting houses for forty years. Forty years! I know my trade. I can make a living anywhere there are houses that need painting."
Georgia stood and joined him at the window. Together they looked out at the Chicago street—the street they'd walked countless times, where they knew all the neighbors, where Emily had played as a little girl. It was home, in its way. But was it the right home for their future?
"Tell me honestly," Georgia said, turning to face her husband. "Is this about the work and the weather, or is this about something else?"
Charles met her eyes, and for a moment the age he usually tried to hide was visible in his face—the lines, the weariness, the awareness that time was passing. "I want better for you and Emily," he said simply. "I want Emily to have opportunities, to grow up somewhere with promise. And I want..." he hesitated, then continued, "I want to feel like I'm building something again, not just holding on. San Diego is young, growing. A man can make his mark there, even at my age."
Georgia reached out and took his hand. "You've always provided for us, Charles. Never doubt that."
"I know," he said. "But I also know I'm not getting any younger." He smiled ruefully at their shared secret. "If we're going to make a change, to try something new, we should do it now. While I still can."
Georgia squeezed his hand. She thought of her brothers in California, of the sunshine they described, of the opportunities Charles envisioned. She thought of Emily, and what kind of future awaited her daughter in this crowded, dirty city versus a growing town by the Pacific. She thought of Charles, and how the past winter had aged him, how the cold affected his work and his spirit.
"When would we leave?" she asked.
Charles's face lit up with hope. "You mean...?"
"I mean we should at least consider it seriously," Georgia said, though the small smile playing at her lips suggested she'd already made up her mind. "Let's sit down with the numbers, figure out what it would cost, what we'd need to do. Write to Franklin and James, get more details about housing, about the union, about schools."
"We could go in the fall," Charles suggested eagerly. "After the summer work season here, when I've saved up a bit more. That would give us time to prepare, to say our goodbyes properly."
Georgia nodded slowly. "Emily will have questions. Concerns about leaving her friends."
"Emily is resilient," Charles said. "She's your daughter—she can handle change." He pulled Georgia close, his voice dropping to a gentler tone. "We came to Chicago with nothing but hope and hard work. We can do it again in San Diego. Together."
"Together," Georgia echoed, leaning into her husband's embrace.
As the sun set over Chicago, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, Charles and Georgianna Auble stood at their window, looking out at the city they would soon leave behind. Neither could know what the future held—the opportunities and challenges that awaited them in California, or that Charles would have only five years left to live. But in that moment, they had hope, and they had each other, and they had a dream of something better.
It was enough.
Over the following weeks, the decision solidified. Letters flew back and forth between Chicago and San Diego. Furniture was sold or packed. Goodbyes were said to neighbors and union brothers. Emily, after initial tears, began to grow excited about the adventure.
And later in 1911, the Auble family—Charles, Georgia, and Emily—boarded a train heading west toward the Pacific Ocean, toward sunshine and possibility, toward the final chapter of Charles's long and eventful life. The house at 611 West 76th Street was left to new occupants, but the memories traveled with the Aubles, packed carefully among the dishes and linens and painting supplies, as they journeyed toward their new home in San Diego.
=================================
Subscribe to receive a free daily email from Genea-Musings using www.Blogtrottr.com.
No comments:
Post a Comment