A Semiquincentennial Scrapbook

The United States of America is now 250 years old. Happy Birthday, USA! Two hundred and fifty big ones of living life as the greatest experiment in democracy. Congratulations! Let’s blow out the symbolic candles and collectively be grateful that on this day in 1776, the Founding Fathers (a term cemented into American political rhetoric by Warren G. Harding in 1916) signed the Declaration of Independence and set forth the moral and political paradigm, “that all men are created equal.”

Beautiful in concept, these words have required a relentless push by the people to overcome the aristocratic tendencies of power and capital. Given it would take another 80 plus years before Lincoln would give the Emancipation Proclamation in 1863 freeing slaves and another 57 years before the 19th Amendment would be ratified giving women the right to vote in 1920 and another 40 plus years before the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965 would address many clear injustices to people of color, the great democracy experiment has often been much too slow to find its footing but the political will and power of the people eventually fall on the right side of history.

Resilience, forgiveness and an unquenchable thirst in the “pursuit of happiness” are the very essence of American democracy. The Founding Fathers were at the beginning of this great American adventure, but the citizens of today are being called on to move the country forward. We The People stand on the shoulders of previous generations. I think of my grandfathers—their stories, their kindness, and the generosity of their time and teachings.

I was blessed as a child to spend enormous amounts of time with both of my grandfathers. I’ve written extensively about my Grandpa Buddy, Richard D. Hixon, in my song and essay “Up on Chorito Ridge.” A Marine war hero with a colorful vocabulary, he loved his Corvette and his country. He survived the Dust Bowl, a ride with Pretty Boy Floyd, mixing booze with his pain pills and God only knows what else. He earned three Purple Hearts and a Gold Star. The VA gave him mountains of those pain pills. He’d let us grandkids run our hands over the divots in his back from the bullets. There were seven of them. I close my eyes now and I can feel his leathery skin with a Royals game on the AM radio and a pack of KOOL menthols on the table. He’d give us some of those cigarettes in lieu of punks for our fireworks when we were blowing up their neighborhood to celebrate Independence Day as kids. When I think of him, I feel his big smile. I’d be honored if you spun his song today.

Grandpa Frank Albright was a devout Christian, retired principal, nature enthusiast and lover of all things history. He didn’t smoke and he certainly didn’t drink. He began every meal with the same prayer that encouraged nourishment of our bodies and blessed those who prepared it. We spent an enormous amount of time together in my childhood. I can hear him clearing his throat now and saying, “Oh P-shaw.”

We’d go rock hunting and we’d almost always start by finding the proper walking stick. Sometimes we’d find fruit wood from a cherry tree that made the hike even more aromatic. He loved teaching me things—I really wish I had retained more of it. When I think of him, I can smell the small room off of his garage where we’d put together the geology collections for the county fair. We’d get out the hammer and chisel so we could organize them nicely into our custom display case. He loved rocks and I loved looking at them with him. One of his favorite tricks was throwing a lava rock in someone’s general direction. Comprised of volcanic ash, it was light and harmless but people would jump as it was hurled their way. Thinking of him this way is bringing the gentlest tear to my eyes. He cried, too. Tough but tender. My favorite kind of human.

He loved books, too. His basement was full of them. Westerns, history, American Indian, religious, science — he was particularly proud of his Zane Grey collection. The accessibility to intelligence in that musty basement air full of books, rocks and pictures is something I hope always remains a part of me. I now have many of these rocks and books in my home in some of the same bookshelves.

Now that I’m 50 years old, I have been slowly acquiring more mementos from my childhood from my parents as I help them downsize. When we cleared out their attic, we found a box addressed to me from Grandpa Frank from 1998. It was rather large and generally untouched. Upon further examination, it was full of black and white framed pictures protected perfectly in Arizona Republic newspaper pages. Grandpa had learned I liked Ansel Adam prints, so he created a collection of black and whites for me. A sweet gesture that my 22-year-old college and party-going self didn’t fully appreciate. Along with that box of framed pictures, I also found a homemade scrapbook from 1982 of a 20-day trip I took with Grandpa Frank and Grandma Dee from Fort Scott, KS, to the Black Hills of South Dakota when I was 6 years old.

The trip is an amalgamation of all things Frank Albright. We attended church services and pow-wows. Saw Mount Rushmore. Went to Bear Country. We stopped at all the now-entering-state signs for a pic of me and my ill-fitting socks. I saw the Denver Broncos at training camp and rode a tortoise at the Reptile Gardens. I remember the trip, although not in the detail of nearly 40-page scrapbook. It was the first of many road trips I was privileged to experience with them as a child.

It’s been comforting to recall these good times. To feel like I’m walking with Grandpa Frank up the side of a mountain again. Listening to the birds. Looking for interesting rocks. Smelling the natural pine scent as the needles crunch beneath our feet. Exploring. Posing for pictures. Moving forward with the playful exuberance of a life in its infancy and being the center of attention from adoring loved ones. I was blessed.

I guess that’s how I feel about America today, too. I want to remember the good times, like the profound signing of the Declaration of Independence 250 years ago. Those times when we healed through collective enlightenment and the will of the people to be better. When visionary leaders like Abraham Lincoln made bold moves on behalf of the greater good. Today is just one day in our semiquincentennial scrapbook in this great democracy experiment pursuing our unalienable rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I, for one, will continue to believe in this experiment by participating at a greater level, calling out greed and believing in the power of the people.

As I recently thumbed through a copy of Grandpa Frank’s Twentieth Century Speaker, a hardbound, patriotic and still-colorful book published in 1899, I found a handwritten note calling out the poem, “Grind Your Axe in the Morning,” by George Lansing Taylor. The poem ends with the following lines: “And he who dawdles and plays the fool, nor longs for virtue and knowledge; Whose soul no noble ambition fires—No hero-purpose employs—He must hoe life’s fence-row among the briers, or hack the brush with the boys.” Thanks for all the wisdom and love, Grandpa Frank! I sure think you’d be proud of the songs and compositions I’m sharing with the world these days, hoping to make America a better place to live by increasing our empathy and decreasing our lust for wealth. I’m publishing this at 6AM in your honor on the 250th anniversary of the greatest experiment in democracy and I’m excited about the future because We The People have noble ambitions and aren’t afraid to get up early in the morning to make them a reality.

To find more stories and insights across the state of Iowa, please consider following and supporting the many talented journalists and storytellers of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative of which I’m a proud member. NOTE: All annual paid subscribers to the Chip Happens Substack will receive a copy of my CD compilation, Twenty-Five, that includes 25 original songs. If you are only in the market for the CD, it is available here for $25. CD art and design were completed by my amazing and talented wife, Jen Albright, who is the driving force behind our strategy + creative firm, AlbrightSpark. You can also learn about my other professional services at www.chiphappens.life where I help folks evaluate strategic alternatives to traditional long-term care based on my experience as a family caregiver with loved ones that endured difficult cancer and dementia diagnoses.