My great-aunt Freida used to tell my father and uncle (Henry and Elmer, respectively) that her brother or someone closely related to her rode with Jesse James.
The details are slimmer than a wheat stalk and both my father and uncle are dead. I only learned of it listening to my father and uncle play Cribbage, when Henry reminded Elmer of Aunt Freida's claim.
Elmer remarked, "That's right. I'd forgotten all about that."
Elmer was born in 1912 and Henry in 1915, so this was probably back in the 1920s or early 30s when they were told.
I've often wondered if one way or another I'm related to the James family. Unlike those who paint James as a Robin Hood, I believe he was a robbin' hood.
I can't help who I'm related to but I sure wouldn't be proud if Jesse or Frank James were ancestors. Both were murderous thieves.
If I need a family hero, I'll look to my father and mother.
My father served in World War II in Europe and the Philippines. Every winter, his legs broke out in a rash because of the frostbite he'd incurred in the Battle of the Bulge.
My mother, Sylvia, was a member of the Belgian Resistance and was twice imprisoned by the Gestapo.
Mom's first husband was a member of the Belgian Resistance as well, and endured 18 months of Hell in a German torture camp, then was executed two weeks before D-Day.
They are my heroes, not some glorified psychopath.
