An Orphan's Child Comes Home: Princeton, Illinois

Pagoo and the mythical red covered bridge, Princeton, IL.

Just yesterday, while standing on the street where I was born, I felt very little emotion. I was not quite 2 years old when my father, weary and beaten by the high pressure life as a Chicago advertising artist and suburban parent, packed up his reluctant family and drove them across the country to Laguna Beach. There is not one among us who does not thank him, and as I stood on that street, that was my principal thought. What would my life have been like had we stayed in Palatine? The Krantz family house, so passionately and painfully conceived and realized by my parents, has been torn down and replaced with a soulless structure that could be from any town, any street in America. My heart was wholly unmoved by the place.

But if on that day I could not see and touch my father’s sweat and dreams, today I could walk in my mother’s footsteps. I drove 100 miles southwest of Palatine, where my mother gave birth to her five children, to Princeton, IL and the site of the orphanage where she, and her four siblings, lived most of their childhood.  I was guided there through my cell phone with the virtual eyes and heart of my brother, Richard, who had made this same pilgrimage with mom a decade ago. Since then the main structure of the orphanage has been torn down. It was my great privilege to be the first of our family to visit the sculpture garden that was dedicated in 2008 on the site where the building stood. As I walked through the garden and amongst the remaining original buildings I was overwhelmed with the sense of that little girl that was so at home on these grounds. My mother.

I think this sculpture looks remarkably like Mia as a little girl

The dedication plaque. The garden was dedicated a month before Mia's death.

As I passed by one of the newer buildings (the Nelson chapel---perhaps named for the head mistress of the orphanage, Mrs. Nelson, a main character from mom’s stories of the place) my peripheral vision picked up a familiar site: a sculpture of my mom’s on a pedestal in the lobby. I froze in my tracks and gasped. I shook every door to get in, but they were all locked. I could only peer in through the glass. In my second blessing via cell phone today, a phone call to my sister Rebecca inspired me to seek out the maintenance man for the complex and rely upon his mercy to open the doors.

"Boy with the Birds" donated to the home by Mia in 2004

 I found him easily, his name was Steve (like my brother) and I was not the first descendant of an orphan to ask for his help. There had been many before me: some with deep complex mythology, like ours, and some with darker histories. "My mother, Mia, sculpted this," I shared with him. "This was her home." Steve showed me the original gymnasium where my mom had played, the boiler room and laundry where she had been tasked with rising before dawn to do the wash for all the residents, and the footprint of the playground and swing set where she had played and had her head scarred by a rusty swing.

The original gymnasium, circa 1921

The boiler room and laundry. You can see an old sandbox in the foreground

The footprint of the swing set

Grasping the door to the original barn

Before I left, I took a small yellow bottle from my pocket. In the bottle a precious sample of my mother’s ashes, now some to rest in the garden that grows where she once did.

I had one more stop. Guided again by Richard, I found the red covered bridge two miles down the road that had been a favorite place of hers. 

The Princeton Red Covered Bridge, Princeton, IL

More than 80 years ago a little girl named Myrtle Louise Anderson carved her initials boldly on the west end on the bridge. It took some searching for me to find them---they were smaller than I’d imagined---but I had a photo taken by my brother on their last visit to guide me. I traced each letter with my fingertip. Today, after many coats of paint and years of wear, the horizontal leg of the L has become faded.

My mother's initials carved on the bridge when she was a child

Maybe she knew even then she would be Mia.