A Family Tree in This Scrapbook’s Leaves

It had been two years since I’d spoken to Art Rorden, so it took me a second or two to grasp the meaning of his phone message: “I think you’ve got the end to your story.”

It’s funny how things work in the news business. You write something and wonder if anything will come of it. Nothing does, and so you forget about the loose end and move on to the next story.

Then, out of the blue. . . .

That’s what happened when Rorden phoned. He’s a Huntington Beach man who, while visiting a flurry of Orange County garage sales with his daughter in 1997, picked up a photo album titled “Grandfather Remembers.”

The 65-page book was replete with an old man’s handwritten reminiscences of his earliest memories--from his days as a Kentucky farm boy to his current life in the 1990s.

A grandfather himself, Rorden thought it would be fun to read. He paid a quarter for it.

Instead, he became haunted by it. Six months after buying it, he wrote me: “Someone’s grandfather poured out his heart in this book. Perhaps there’s a story for you and a possibility if you do it with names that someone will surface.”

Rorden felt guilty for holding on to the book for so long.

In September 1997, I wrote a column about it. Like Rorden, I was touched by the sweep of the man’s life and his desire to let his grandchild learn more about it.

It bothered me that this book of words and photos, some dating to 1909, ended up in a garage sale.

Rorden and I made good-faith efforts to find a family member to connect to the book. But frankly, I was glad I hadn’t found the grandfather, whose name was Frank Atkinson. I didn’t want to tell him where his book ended up.

But it was impossible to know why someone discarded the book, so I tried not to be judgmental. Maybe someone had reason to throw it away. Maybe it got tossed by accident.

That’s why Rorden’s phone call this week lifted me. Someone had telephoned him, having recently seen his name in the 1997 column. Rorden gave me the man’s phone number, but I checked my e-mail first and saw this message:

“Frank Atkinson is my great-uncle. My mother’s maiden name is Atkinson. Her father was Leon Buel Atkinson, brother of Frank.”

The man hoped I still had the book.

His name is James Hill III. He goes by Jay and lives in Corning, on Interstate 5 between Sacramento and Redding, with his wife. They have four sons, from 20 to 13.

We talked for maybe 30 minutes, and Hill described enough family members that I knew he was a relative. Now 43, Hill has been trying over the years to dig up some genealogy but had come up dry on his mother’s side.

“As I grew up, I heard a few stories [about that side of the family], but nothing really evident,” he says. “So I thought since I didn’t know it, I should find it so I can give it to my kids and let them know where they came from, what their forefathers went through, what they had, who they were.”

Hill’s grandfather and Frank Atkinson were among seven brothers and a sister. From Frank Atkinson’s book, it seems clear their family’s coming-of-age story is a microcosm of this country’s story in the so-called American Century.

That’s what Hill wants his boys to understand.

I tell Hill I’ll mail the book this week. He doesn’t want to speculate on how the book ended up as a disposable item, but that doesn’t matter now. He thinks some of the original eight Atkinson siblings are alive and says he’ll try to find them.

Hill says his sons aren’t hooked on genealogy but are interested in hearing some stories from the old days.

When this book hits their doorstep, they’ll have some.

At long last, then, a happy ending for a simple story.

I’m happy for Art Rorden, whose instinct to make the book public paid off.

I’m glad for Jay Hill, who’ll be able to fill in some blanks in his family tree.

And I’m especially happy for Frank Atkinson, whose look back on his life deserves a spot on a family member’s shelf, not at some garage sale close-out.

Dana Parsons’ column appears Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. Readers may reach Parsons by calling (714) 966-7821 or by writing to him at The Times Orange County Edition, 1375 Sunflower Ave., Costa Mesa, CA 92626, or by e-mail to dana.parsons@latimes.com.