Show & Tell...

Show & Tell…
Today for show & tell I brought this little painting…

It’s a portrait miniature that hung on the wall next to my Grandmother’s bedroom dresser for as long as I can remember. Watercolor on Ivory. That’s my Grandma, Ruth, holding my mother, Newell. Painted about 100 years ago by one of the Onderdonk family, most likely Eleanor Rogers Onderdonk (1886-1986) who specialized in miniatures. Her brother, Julian was more famous, known for his Bluebonnet landscapes, three of which hung in the Oval Office when George Bush was the man. Several have sold for well over $1,000,000.

The Onderdonks were a prominent San Antonio family around the turn of the last century, as were both of my Grandparents families the Newell’s, and the Maverick’s.

Grandma’s dad, Oliver Stribling Newell, was a railroad man. A friend of then president of Mexico, Porfirio Diaz. That Great Grandpa helped build the railroad system throughout Mexico in the late 1900’s. He owned his own railroad car. Railroad building was one of the most important goals of the Díaz administration and by 1910, Mexico could boast 10,000 miles of track, uniting the country, providing secure ways to get goods to market, and enabling rural residents to leave the farm for city jobs. Great Grandfather Newell was largely responsible for that.

The Mavericks, of course, were one of the most prominent families in San Antonio, going back to Samuel Augustus Maverick (1803 – 1870) who was a Texas lawyer, politician, land baron and signer of the Texas Declaration of Independence from Mexico. His name is the source of the term "maverick" first cited in 1867, which means "independently minded". Apparently he had been paid a debt in cattle and, not being a cattle man, he didn’t brand them. Unbranded cattle which were not part of the herd came to be labeled "mavericks".

I have a picture of Sam Maverick’s home in Alamo Square, not very long after the infamous slaughter of some 200 “Texicans” at the Battle of the Alamo. Remember that?

This painting is 3” wide and 4” tall but the detail, even close up, is remarkable, especially on the lace around Grandma’s right arm. The thin sheet of ivory is permanently sealed in a case of brass and glass so unfortunately; I can’t look at the back of it to see if anything is written there.

These days, the painting hangs on the wall over my bed stand, and one day, I assume, it will probably hang over daughter Ruth’s as well.

Aside from its history, this little painting is a time machine. One glance never fails to take me back 50 years to Grandma’s and Grandpa’s house, deep in their Charlottesville woods. I spent a lot of time there as a kid; some of my favorite memories are from that time in my life. I can smell the house, the chicken Mandy was frying down in the kitchen, the dampness of the woods after a brief rain, wet dogs and antique furniture that stood like dark monoliths around the dining room table. I hear cicadas screaming with lust, pulsing waves of sound on a humid Summer day. Grandma herself, the scent of Rose water, Grandpa with his Wall Street Journal neatly folded in his lap, snoozing in his huge brown leather chair at the back of his office.

I glance at this watercolor quickly as I dress for the day, and all of that comes flooding back to me in a heartbeat, which it really was, and still is today…the beat of my heart.