Everything Photographic: J. T. Boysen and his ... - Yosemite Online

A portrait of Private George Metcalf sent to the authorby his descendant, Derrick Graham.Larry." I said. " There ' s a soldier here from Kentucky . Whydon 't you take a look?"I handed over the muster rolls and Larry read whatwas written and exclaimed, " George Metcalf? TheMetcalfs? I know the Metcalfs from Frankfort. They' velived there for over 100 years! "I thought he was joking . He wasn' t.All of last summer I walked around Yosemite Valleypresenting my living history program, aware that I hadfound the relatives of one of Yosemite's buffalo soldiers,or perhaps closer to the truth, one of those relatives,through the agency of Larry Montgomery, had found me.Do we discover history, or does history discover us?Sure, Private Metcalf never served here in the SierraNevada, but he was a soldier with Troop K which venturedto Yosemite barely one month before he was dischargedfrom the Ninth Cavalry. Because in those daysit took the U.S . Army nearly two weeks to travel fromSan Francisco to Yosemite, and it was logical for GeorgeMetcalf to finish his time in the military at the Presidio.George Metcalf remains part of that story . Like the restof Troop K, he was a veteran of the Philippine-AmericanWar garrisoned at the Presidio of San Francisco . Likemany of his peers, he was from the South . They hadserved together, sharing hardships and the deaths of fellowsoldiers . The memory of George Metcalf certainlyjourneyed through the high country of Yosemite thoughthe man did not .I had found George, or had been found by George.George Metcalf has claimed me just as surely as I haveclaimed him. My research turned into a lifeline tossedinto a dark hole, someone tugged at the other end, andnow he's slowly being pulled free . What must that feel liketo be forgotten for nearly a hundred years, and then tosuddenly have people saying your name, wondering aboutyou again, as if you'd never been forgotten?Of course, for the Metcalfs, George was always a partof family history . A few days ago I spoke to DerrickGraham, the great-grandnephew of George Metcalf. Mr.Graham is a schoolteacher in Frankfort, Kentucky . Hetold me that George never married, and that he was theonly brother of four sisters, but all I could think of in thatmoment was that I was on the telephone with a relative ofPvt . George Metcalf.In those few minutes, this history was no longer superintendentreports, patrol reports, muster rolls, letters,or miscellaneous correspondence . It had become a conversationabout someone real, someone who had sisters,someone who was remembered by people who were alive.Somewhere there was a heart beating, and a breath taken.There was blood flowing . There were tears.George was alive for me while I was talking to DerrickGraham, alive in a way that he had not been in over threeyears of research . At what point does something far awayawaken inside you? When does the temperature of a storyshift from zero to hot? Now it was personal. Now it wasthe way he walked, the way he spoke, how he held a cigar.Did he smoke? Now it was the dreams he had, those forgottendreams . It was a whole different thing . I had foundGeorge . George had found me.For years I had been reaching my hands out into darkness,and when I least expected it, someone had claspedthem, held them . I was no longer solely in this time, andGeorge was no longer a creature of that time . A bridgehad been built beneath us, and we had crossed somehow,and met amazed in the middle of that span.What do you say? What do you ask? You feel close,but you're a stranger . You ask simple questions ; you wait,listen and hope to hear something you hadn't thought ofbefore . A phone call . Time slows . A voice. Talking aboutthe dead . The living . What's in between? You are.Now the history no longer sleeps in yellowed documents,but shines in the eyes of George Metcalf. Theylook out into this world through his living cousins,nephews and nieces . He was never forgotten in thosehouseholds . What is it all made from, those nails, the glueand bolts that keep a story together? It can all fall apartelsewhere, but in every family memories can be kept likeheirlooms, without shelf or cabinet, there behind the eyes.Yet, I have only found a part of George . The totalityof a life can't be captured in a photograph . He staresout from a fragment of a time and a place . He can' t be14 YOSEMITE ASSOCIATION, FALL 2008