The Pourroy Boys
Nov. 11th, 2014 03:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tealinWhile I was working in Silicon Valley, I was lucky enough to live on and off in Saratoga, a small town up in the foothills of the Santa Cruz mountains. It was leafy and historic and nice to walk around when I had a spare moment, and one of my favourite places to visit was the cemetery, a quiet lot full of birds, trees, and so much love – and grief, but mainly love – you could almost smell it on the breeze.
One of the trees caught my attention. It was a coast redwood with a great fat trunk, unusual for the species, and had two light patches in the base. Closer to, you could see the tree had been hacked away so as not to have swallowed up the headstones of two young servicemen, brothers apparently, whose military-issue memorials were half covered in dirt and detritus but were at least saved from the tree. They had died within two years of each other, after the end of WWI but clearly having been involved with it. Who were they? Why had they signed up? Where did they go? What had killed them? Who were they? It became a small side obsession, trying to piece together their story, and I found only limited success, but in the process found an unexpected emotional attachment to this little patch of land and the family tree.
Pierre Pourroy came to the USA from the Hautes-Alpes region of France at the end of the 19th century. He worked odd jobs until landing with one of the French viticulturists making the hills of redwood, oak, and laurel into a new wine country. His employer had two daughters, and as the story tends to go, Pierre married into the family business, buying a tract of his own land with his earnings and inheriting the estate when his father-in-law died, further expanding it with his savings and labour. Pierre and Marie Louise had nine children by the 1910 census; Peter (Pierre) was the eldest, then a daughter Margaret, and then John.
At some point Peter and John enlisted, or were drafted, but the trail here goes cold – most Army records from this time were lost in a fire in the 1970s; if I were a family member I could submit a request to see if John or Peter's service record was one of the ones that survived, but I'm not. All I know from here is what's in their obituaries: John died of tuberculosis in January of 1919 at Camp Lewis in Washington State, an army base which served both to train recruits before sending them overseas and process returning soldiers before sending them home. I've no idea which of these groups John falls into. Peter died in December of 1920, also of tuberculosis, though in Phoenix, Arizona. Both appear to have contracted their illnesses while in service; John's may have been short, but the fact Peter went to Arizona, which was a destination for many American consumptives on account of the climate, and that he died so long after the war was over, suggests he struggled with it for some time. They were just two of the hundreds of thousands of men the war killed long after the armistice was signed.
But these are all just facts. They provide almost no insight into what actually matters about these people. Who were they? What were they like? What were they interested in? Did they want to carry on the wine business or do something else with their lives? Did they pursue an education? Did they like walking in the hills, or would they rather catch a train to San Francisco? Did they speak French at home? Did their father tell them about the other mountains, where he came from, across the sea? Is that why they went 'over there'? John was with the Quartermaster corps – did he cook? Did the smell of bay leaves remind him of the bay laurels at home? Were there any local girls who had a crush on them, who were devastated when they didn't return? What of their mother? She had lost her third son in 1916, when he was only 17, also from tuberculosis. Was she proud of the boys who had gone to fight and lost to a bacillus, or did she wish they'd never gone? Did she ever recover?
They both died before they could leave much of a trace in the statistics. Neither married, had children, owned property, or any of the other things that leave a paper trail. They were born, were given a name, joined the army, and died. If any photos of them exist, they aren't publicly available. Chances are, anyone who knew them has died too. For all intents and purposes they are merely names. The person is lost.
After Peter was buried their mother planted a redwood on their graves, a tree from the mountains they'd grown up on, eaten from, worked, shaped, left, and never saw again. It grew up on them and they became part of the landscape; in time the rest of the family died and was buried around them, and the tree ate from them too. It's grown fat on the bones of the family that planted it, and all their sorrow, joy, work, love, and the mysteries inside them that we will never know, now catch the laurel-scented breeze above the town they called home.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie...
But not in Flanders fields.
Sources:
The Savannah-Chanelle winery, formerly the Pourroy family winery
John P. Pourroy's Obituary
Peter C. Pourroy's Obituary
Louis Pourroy's grave record
The History of Santa Clara County, by Eugene T Sawyer
The Saratoga Historical Foundation Museum
Madronia Cemetery minutes, 24 Aug 2011
Thanks Dadoo for the research help!
One of the trees caught my attention. It was a coast redwood with a great fat trunk, unusual for the species, and had two light patches in the base. Closer to, you could see the tree had been hacked away so as not to have swallowed up the headstones of two young servicemen, brothers apparently, whose military-issue memorials were half covered in dirt and detritus but were at least saved from the tree. They had died within two years of each other, after the end of WWI but clearly having been involved with it. Who were they? Why had they signed up? Where did they go? What had killed them? Who were they? It became a small side obsession, trying to piece together their story, and I found only limited success, but in the process found an unexpected emotional attachment to this little patch of land and the family tree.
Pierre Pourroy came to the USA from the Hautes-Alpes region of France at the end of the 19th century. He worked odd jobs until landing with one of the French viticulturists making the hills of redwood, oak, and laurel into a new wine country. His employer had two daughters, and as the story tends to go, Pierre married into the family business, buying a tract of his own land with his earnings and inheriting the estate when his father-in-law died, further expanding it with his savings and labour. Pierre and Marie Louise had nine children by the 1910 census; Peter (Pierre) was the eldest, then a daughter Margaret, and then John.
At some point Peter and John enlisted, or were drafted, but the trail here goes cold – most Army records from this time were lost in a fire in the 1970s; if I were a family member I could submit a request to see if John or Peter's service record was one of the ones that survived, but I'm not. All I know from here is what's in their obituaries: John died of tuberculosis in January of 1919 at Camp Lewis in Washington State, an army base which served both to train recruits before sending them overseas and process returning soldiers before sending them home. I've no idea which of these groups John falls into. Peter died in December of 1920, also of tuberculosis, though in Phoenix, Arizona. Both appear to have contracted their illnesses while in service; John's may have been short, but the fact Peter went to Arizona, which was a destination for many American consumptives on account of the climate, and that he died so long after the war was over, suggests he struggled with it for some time. They were just two of the hundreds of thousands of men the war killed long after the armistice was signed.
But these are all just facts. They provide almost no insight into what actually matters about these people. Who were they? What were they like? What were they interested in? Did they want to carry on the wine business or do something else with their lives? Did they pursue an education? Did they like walking in the hills, or would they rather catch a train to San Francisco? Did they speak French at home? Did their father tell them about the other mountains, where he came from, across the sea? Is that why they went 'over there'? John was with the Quartermaster corps – did he cook? Did the smell of bay leaves remind him of the bay laurels at home? Were there any local girls who had a crush on them, who were devastated when they didn't return? What of their mother? She had lost her third son in 1916, when he was only 17, also from tuberculosis. Was she proud of the boys who had gone to fight and lost to a bacillus, or did she wish they'd never gone? Did she ever recover?
They both died before they could leave much of a trace in the statistics. Neither married, had children, owned property, or any of the other things that leave a paper trail. They were born, were given a name, joined the army, and died. If any photos of them exist, they aren't publicly available. Chances are, anyone who knew them has died too. For all intents and purposes they are merely names. The person is lost.
After Peter was buried their mother planted a redwood on their graves, a tree from the mountains they'd grown up on, eaten from, worked, shaped, left, and never saw again. It grew up on them and they became part of the landscape; in time the rest of the family died and was buried around them, and the tree ate from them too. It's grown fat on the bones of the family that planted it, and all their sorrow, joy, work, love, and the mysteries inside them that we will never know, now catch the laurel-scented breeze above the town they called home.
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie...
But not in Flanders fields.
Sources:
The Savannah-Chanelle winery, formerly the Pourroy family winery
John P. Pourroy's Obituary
Peter C. Pourroy's Obituary
Louis Pourroy's grave record
The History of Santa Clara County, by Eugene T Sawyer
The Saratoga Historical Foundation Museum
Madronia Cemetery minutes, 24 Aug 2011
Thanks Dadoo for the research help!
Pourroy Boys
Date: 2017-12-02 06:23 am (UTC)One thing the obituaries of the time don't mention is that their mother was half California indian, but to see photos of them, it's abundantly clear.
I was too young to think to ask my Aunt Lucille some of the questions you pose about their lives, but I've seen photos of them that suggest certain things. One is of John on a Harley Davidson, which at that time was little more than a souped up bicycle.
They did indeed speak French at home, as my Aunt Lucille could still speak it in her 90s. It would've come in handy if they were overseas.
I gather all the siblings were strong-willed and adventurous, and confident in their place on the land. I read a book by Willa Cather years ago about a farm boy ruined by the Great War, and I pictured Peter and John as I read it. They were definitely farm boys. Their younger brother, my great grandfather Medard, went on to cultivate his own vineyard, just like their father.
I've been to a lot of family funerals at that cemetary over the years, and whenever I'm there I look at all the family plots, so I've always taken those peculiar gravestones for granted, but your musings on them are insightful and beautiful.
Cheers,
Jason
PS
Date: 2017-12-02 06:48 am (UTC)https://harpers.org/blog/2015/06/the-antarctic-condition/
Re: Pourroy Boys
Date: 2017-12-12 12:57 pm (UTC)Wow, thank you so much for commenting! I'm so pleased their memory has been perpetuated in the family, and that there are photos of them – something to put flesh on the bones, or even bones to the headstones. Thanks also for the supplementary information about your family. It's great to hear you still have a connection to the place and to each other – so many in western North America (not least myself and my family) live such disconnected lives; it's a real gift to have roots somewhere, especially reaching back through the indigenous population. Thank you for sharing!
Re: PS
Date: 2017-12-12 01:02 pm (UTC)