| Buckhannon or Bust! |
| We found Jim’s house on the outskirts of the city. His street was very different than the typical small-town streets we had been traversing in Buckhannon that afternoon. Cars were parked willy-nilly on the grass in front of the houses and the houses themselves were small and close together. We stopped at the number on the slip of paper and I got out empty-handed. I didn’t want to scare anyone by appearing with my camera around my neck. Picking my way around the rusted red pick-up truck and across the wooden pallet that served as a sidewalk up to the stairs, I thought about what to say when I knocked. I still had not formulated a definite plan when I realized I had better ring the bell instead of just stand on the porch. A woman on a rocking chair on her porch across the street eyed me warily as I pushed the doorbell . |
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| I copied down the address and asked the pizza delivery guy where the street was. He directed us to the last street in the town. On the way we were greeted by one of the only green non-conifer trees we had seen the whole trip. The park was right behind the Intermediate School and I can imagine what it'd look like in 45 minutes when school let out. It was beautiful spring day to hang out in the park after school. |
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| A short, heavy-set man with no teeth, dressed in a flannel shirt and sweatpants, answered the door stepping out into the bright sunlight. I introduced myself and he extended his hand. ”I’m looking for Jim Fidler,” I announced.
“You’ve found him,” came the reply. “That’d be me.” I explained that I had a good friend in Newfoundland, Canada, whose ancestors came from Buckhannon, and that I was here to take some photos for him and tell him about the city. I told him that my friend’s name was Jim Fidler and when I saw the name in the phone book I just HAD to meet the man who had the same name. “Newfoundland, Canada,” he repeated, as he shook his head. “I don’t know anyone in Canada. But there’s a radio broadcaster fella out in California with my name, too! So is this Jim Fidler named after me?” he asked. I was a bit puzzled with this comment. Thinking to my self, “You just told me you don’t know anyone in Canada, how could he be named after you?” |
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| He apparently saw my puzzlement and asked, “How old is this Jim fella?”
“His last birthday was number 40,” I answered. “Oh! Then he was named after me! I wasn’t named after him! That radio broadcast in California was also named after me,” he added. It finally made sense then – the Jim standing in front of me must have been at least as old as I am, a good 14 years older than the Jim in Newfoundland. Well, since we were getting along so famously, I asked if I could take his photo and he graciously assented. Vic was incredulous when I came back to the van for the camera, grinning and shaking his head as he handed it to me. Jim posed nicely, I thanked him and we drove off down the street. “Can’t wait to tell Jim THIS one!” I chortled. Somewhere down the line he’s got to be related to Jim in Newfoundland, he just doesn’t know it yet. |
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| GBS Site Fidler Site |