I Found The Owner Of Page 253

I Found The Owner Of Page 253 

By John R. Greenwood

The title of this post is deceiving. I did not actually find the owner of the painting on page #253 in Jack Lewis’s book “The Hudson River,” they found me. It’s one more great story placed at my feet by the magic of this book. 

For readers of this blog who’ve been following my Jack Lewis journey over the last few years you know how excited I get when I collect another piece to the Jack Lewis puzzle. Trust that my lack of writing on the subject is not indicative of my interest in the subject. Work and personal responsibility have kept my posts and investigations at a minimum.

Until this week.

I recently posted some photographs of our town’s community celebration called Parkfest. It is a one day event full of activities for town residents. It has a carnival flair and it provided some great photo opportunities. When I got home the day after posting the photographs there was a comment unrelated to the post at the bottom. The person leaving the comment stated they had a Jack Lewis painting and that they were having trouble contacting me through the email address I use for the blog. 

Of course I panicked knowing that someone had Jack Lewis “stuff” and they couldn’t get to me to share it. I was on the phone to tech support within seconds. The online tech was the most pleasant customer service representative ever and after telling him my story, (which he genuinely seemed to enjoy) and after exercising extreme patience with me, he solved my problem and then some. Now I had to try and contact the person who left the comment. 

It wasn’t easy.

Many people who comment on blogs do not have a blog of their own. The comment may show a profile page but that doesn’t always lead to an email address, which is what happened here. So, now I had to get my Google engine started. Before you know it I’m on a FB page of the person I think is the wife of the man who left the comment. I go to her Facebook page and leave: a message, my repaired email address, say a simple prayer, cross my missing finger and wait. 

Low and behold.

I get an an answer from another “nicest person in the world.”

This Jack Lewis thing has them falling from the sky. Jack if you’re up there listening I want you to know that just mentioning your name has produced the nicest people this world has to offer; that includes your daughters. Having made phone contact with them has shown me why this entire journey has been blessed with goodwill and cooperation. It’s like a cloud filled with Jack’s spirit is drifting along side me during this discovery of his work. 

Back to my newest “nicest person in the world.” 

I asked her if I could share her story. She said certainly, but would I leave out her last name. 

Here’s Barbara’s, “Jack Lewis” story:

*Barbara’s Email:

“My name is Barbara. I came across your blog about Delaware artist, Jack Lewis. I have an original painting by him, entitled, “MacDougal Alley” (Greenwich Village, New York City) and I also purchased his book, “The Hudson River…Its  a signed copy. So pleased when I realized my painting was on page #253 of the book. I’ve had both for about 10 years and every once in awhile I search the internet for any new information I can find about him. That’s how I found your blog. I knew he had passed a few years ago in York Maine. I loved reading all the information about Jack Lewis on your Blog… Thank you…. Love my painting! 

John (Me) - I responded immediately and expressed my unstoppable desire to know the story of Barbara’s discovery. 

Barbara -
“You are not going to believe where I purchased “MacDougal Alley” ….. A garage sale!! 

I knew nothing about Jack Lewis at the moment I spotted it, my heart started pounding, because I knew it was a GOOD one! I love art and have bought many nice pieces at various garage sales over the years. 

I paid $6.00!! 

Yes, $6.00. Am I lucky or what??? 

When I brought the painting home, I started researching. I found out as much information as I could. That’s when I found his Hudson River book. I had an appraiser come in and look at the painting.”

Barbara now has the painting insured for many more zero’s than $6.00 has. 

I did edit some of our conversation for privacy and respectful reasons. Barbara was gracious and kind by sharing her story. I did not want to place her trust in me at risk. Don’t forget we have never met and only had these brief conversations within a few day period. 

I included the black and white image from Jack’s book along with the accompanying page that mirrors Jack’s interpretation of what he was painting that day. The colored image is a simple photograph of Barbara’s painting in a frame. She apologized for the reflection from the glass. 

With or without the reflection seeing the second original painting to come from this book will definitely highlight the summer of 2015 and it’s only mid July. 

Thank you Barbara, Jack, and “The Hudson River.” 

Time to turn another page…

A Phone Call And Crossed Fingers (Discovering Dickinson Lane Part #2)

A Phone Call And Crossed Fingers 

(Discovering Dickinson Lane Part #2)

By John R. Greenwood

You can read Discovering Dickinson Lane Part #1: here. Part #2, “A Phone call And Crossed Fingers” will describe what happened next in my quest to positively identify a man sitting on a porch in one of Jack Lewis’s paintings. To do that I must first confirm the location of that porch. After discovering Dickinson Lane I went home and pulled up an online website that gave me more information on the 1910 farmhouse I believed to be the one on which the man he called “Uncle John,” sat while Jack painted his portrait. The next few hours after finding Dickinson Lane would prove to be the most fun a grown man could enjoy with a phone, a computer, an obituary, and a little bit of luck. 

When I got home after taking my photos of the farm I found for sale, I quickly turned on my computer and Googled “Dickinson Lane Gansevoort”. Two things stood out immediately; one was a, “Sale By Owner” ad for 15 Dickinson Lane, another was a December 2013 obituary for Lawrence Clayton Dickinson Sr. I guessed that Lawrence may have been the owner of that family farm on Dickinson Lane and after his passing his heirs may have been selling it. The sense of loss I wrote about in the original post was most likely the spirit of Lawrence Dickinson hovering over the farm he loved so much. The timing and location all made sense. I wrote down some of Lawrence’s children’s names. There was a Lawrence Jr. It made sense that he might be the oldest or at least the oldest male. I set out in search of a phone number. In the obituary his address was listed as Waukesha, Wisconsin. What the heck, it was a shot. I dialed 411 in hopes of a listing. Today with cell phones and a mobile society it was a bit of a stretch. I didn’t have much luck so rather than spend my time looking for Lawrence Jr. in Wisconsin I went back to the obituary and looked for the family member who lived the closest to me. There was a Lori (Dickinson)Weaver and her husband from Greenwich, New York. I Googled Lori Weaver and after digging down a few feet I found a number. As I was dialing I looked down at my writing pad. It was the pad I had with me on my motorcycle ride. I had written down the number on the For Sale sign on the front door of the farm house. The numbers were a match! The number on the farm house was hers. After several rings a machine picked up. I left a short rambling message that I’m sure Lori found intriguing. I also left my phone number and crossed my fingers. Because she was trying to sell the farm and because my questions were about the history of the farm I was hopeful her curiosity would encourage her to return my call. I began more Googling and waited. 

It was a few hours later when the phone rang. It was a friendly voice, full of intrigue as I had suspected. I can read a person quite quickly and Lori would be no exception. I knew instantly from the way she spoke that she was a kind and generous person who would understand my crazy investigation. I was spot on; we talked for over forty-five minutes. I started from the beginning when I pulled Jack’s Hudson River book from the shelf in the Lyrical Ballad Bookstore back in 2010. I explained my infatuation with a watercolor artist who painted a book full of familiar places in the early 1960‘s and all of them were waiting for me to tell their individual stories. I read passages from the book hoping she could confirm the identity of Uncle John. Because she was just a toddler at the time she could only offer some speculation. 

One piece she provided did keep my hopes of having found the right home, high. I asked her if the farms now enclosed porch was ever an open porch that overlooked the river a few hundred yards below. She answered, “Yes, it was closed in several years ago. In fact there was a porch that wrapped around the other side of the house as well. The trail for Uncle John was getting warmer. 

She was confused by some of the details Jack wrote about. I explained that I had found multiple discrepancies with names of people and places. I kept picturing Jack jotting down notes and scribbling names in a tattered composition book with lots of miles on it. He lacked the assistance of Google Maps and Wikipedia. It would be months after his visits when he would finally sit down and try to put his writing together with his paintings. It made perfect sense that some of the facts and names might be somewhat distorted and mixed. I was running on instinct on this one and I wasn’t about to be thrown by a “misclue”.

Here’s where this post takes another turn in the river. Lori kindly suggests that her Aunt Kathleen, Lawrence Sr.’s sister, might be able to help me. She tells me she lives in the area and would probably love to hear my story. She thinks Aunt Kathleen might even remember Jack’s visit if he did indeed visit their family farm. I told her I did not want to intrude or invade anyones privacy. That is one of my pledges in researching this book. I want it to be free of conflict. It is important for me that anyone I include is comfortable with my portrayal or interpretation. I ask Lori to contact her aunt first and explain my inquiry and if she is comfortable with it to have her call me at her convenience. She agrees, we wish each other well and hang up; I wait. 

I can’t explain how something so seemingly simple can excite you but this entire journey of following the pages of a fifty year old book about the Hudson River has me held captive-- captive in a good way. At every turn I find something new that has been there all along. It’s slowing down life long enough to taste it that makes the difference. This excursion down the Hudson is something much larger that a handful of blog posts. To me it’s more about survival and a commitment to something unexplainable. 

Less than an hour after speaking with Lori, my phone rings. Normally when my phone rings it sends an electric shock through me. It’s either a work related problem or someone looking for a donation or for a few minutes of my time to answer a survey. This time I was wagging my tail in hopes it was Aunt Kathleen. 

“Hello.” 

“Hello, this is Kathleen Cary, Lori’s aunt. Is this the John who has a book he’s looking for information about?” 

“Yes, thank you so much for calling, I have a book I think you will find interesting to hear about.” 

And so another forty-five minute question and answer marathon began. For me it was like a day at Disney. Don’t laugh, that’s not a stretch, ask an archeologist who’s just dug up a thousand year old artifact how it feels to unearth a mystery. Kathleen was as pleasant and open as her niece. One thing I have found in this search is some really, really nice people. Kathleen Cary was one more on my list. I read her some things out of Jack’s book in hopes it would trigger a recollection or a confirmation. You could feel her mind backtracking fifty years with visions of different family members and friends swirling around in her head. 

She said, “Uncle John huh? I’m not sure. I think it might be referring to John Bussing who was a brother-in-law. The timing is about right and he was in bad health around that time. The other parts didn’t make sense. There was a Mrs. Campbell mentioned, that doesn’t ring a bell.” 

I asked her if she thought she could identify the man if she saw the painting in the book. She said if the painting was done there at that time that she was confident she could tell who it was. Of course the next question I asked her was, did she live near the old homestead and if she did would she be willing to let me bring her the book to look at. Even if she didn’t recognize the man on the porch I was sure she would enjoy thumbing through the pages of the book, especially the ones from that area. She said, no, she didn’t live up that way anymore. 

I say, “Where do you live?”

She says, “The Home of the Good Shepard.” 

My heart rate spikes. I know there are several Home of the Good Shepard’s in the area. 

“Which one?” 

“The one in Wilton.” 

I pull the phone away from my ear and look at the phone. I take a deep breath and reply, “You’re kidding.”

“No, why?” 

“Because I’m your neighbor, I live down the road. I can see the Home of the Good Shepard from my driveway!” 

“No kidding.” she says. 

“No kidding.” 

Now it’s not Al Capone’s vault but it’s turning out to be more exciting. I’m sure Geraldo Rivera would agree. 

I said, “Kathleen we need to make a date to meet. I can’t wait to show you this book.”

Understanding that a woman living on her own in a retirement facility would be a little hesitant to meet with a man she’d only talked with for a few minutes on the phone I backed off on the throttle a little. I waited for her to digest my request for a minute. She sounded like she was in full control of her faculties and she proved it. 

She said, “Well, maybe Lori would like to be here too. She’s kind of busy but I’ll ask her. maybe she’ll have a chance to come over and see it with me.” 

I explained that I had the entire next week off and that I would touch base with her Monday. I needed a couple days to savor this chapter of the story anyway. 

Something tells me the Dickinson Porch mystery may have a couple more chapters. Dickinson Lane may not be very long or well known but it has certainly made one afternoon motorcycle ride a most interesting one. 

To be continued... 

This post is dedicated to a high school friend of my wife and mine. Her name is Bette Brill. We've run into Bette just a handful of times since the 1970's. She is always upbeat and glad to see you. We ran into her today in the grocery store and immediately after saying hello she told us she read Raining Iguanas all the time and she hated it when I didn't finish a story right away. She said she wanted to read more. I was honored that she followed and enjoyed it. It was a simple confirmation that it was at the very least one more connection in a line of many. Thank you Bette for the nudge to get this one down in print and thank you for your kind words and life long friendship to Patti and me. 

Discovering Dickinson Lane

Discovering Dickinson Lane

By John R. Greenwood

An early start to my work day resulted in an early departure and the beginning of another Jack Lewis adventure. After a wet morning the afternoon turned motorcycle ripe. The sun was in high gear and I heard West River Road calling my name. I hurried home, changed my clothes, slid Jack Lewis’s Hudson River book and a pad in my pack, then charged down the back steps like an 8 year-old going out to play after school. I had pre-picked one or two locations I wanted to check out along the river. 

Uncle John, near Fort Miller

On page #82 of Jack’s book there is a painting of a man sitting on a porch in a big wooden rocking chair. The caption reads, “Uncle John, near Fort Miller.” The painting is one page before the one showing the Foster Farm where this journey of mine began picking up steam. I headed out today to see if I could dig up anything that might lead me to that front porch. 

The story that accompanied the painting spoke of a Mrs. Campbell sitting quietly with her brother on that porch while Jack paints the scene. It’s hard to tell from his story if Mrs. Campbell and Uncle John are brother and sister, or if Mrs. Campbell and her brother are sitting on the porch with the pictured Uncle John. What caught my attention was at the bottom of the page where it says:

“One becomes aware that the bigger, more serious events of life...even the passing of it...are natural as a scene of summertime, as the flowers and the peaceful Dickenson porch scene at sunset this day.” - Jack Lewis (July 10, 1961)

It was a specific porch, the Dickenson Porch and my goal today was to try and find it.
I headed north past the Foster Farm on West River Road. Just up the road is an area they call Fort Miller. The problem is both the east and the west side of the river in this area has references to Fort Miller. I was going on the premise that most of what I had encountered so far was on the west side of the river. I continued up West River Road slowly, calculating, with my eyes while checking the mirrors for approaching cars, my head swaying left to right with the rhythm of a pendulum on an antique clock. I descended a small hill that curves at the bottom then runs tight to the river from there to Fort Edward. 

 An a-frame sign with the colorful words, “Farm For Sale” caught my attention. It was sitting at the end of a dirt lane that appeared to be a long driveway. From the road all you could see was the faint outline of a big white house. I decided to continue on with the thought that I would soon backtrack and check out that farm for sale. I didn’t go very far when I felt that tug on my sleeve. That tug has served me well on this Jack Lewis odyssey of mine so I found a long straightaway and a wide driveway and I turned around to go see what was calling me. I headed back to the Farm For Sale sign.

I approached and turned onto the lane slowly because dirt roads and big motorcycles don’t always get along well. I crept along like a medium in search of a ghost. The old dirt lane was draped with a canopy of overhanging branches and was surrounded on both sides with wetlands thick with cattails and slime green algae. I felt like I was going back in time with every inch I traveled. The road then opened and rose up gradually. There at the top of a small hill stood the farm that was for sale.

15 Dickinson Lane

You could tell it was an old place even though the house was uncased in newer white siding. There were some barns visible in the field behind the home. It was a slightly sad scene. The house possessed an air of loss around it. Something told me the sale contained a larger story. The house was whispering something to me. I think I may have found my porch. I pulled over in front of the house. The road was quiet, more like an abandoned driveway. There on the front door was a hand-written sign. It said, “Farm For Sale”. It had a number too. I wasn’t in the market to buy, just borrow, so I got my pad out and wrote down the number. An eerie feeling told me the seller was not the long time owner. 

I took a few pictures as though I was really buying, not just visiting. I didn’t linger. There was a car parked next to the house but there were no signs of life and my instinct was telling me to keep moving. I climbed on my bike and headed back to the end of the lane where I looked up at the road sign. It said “Dickinson Lane”. What are the odds that was the Dickenson Porch I just photographed? Even though the two Dickinson’s were spelled differently I was unfazed. I had already found several misspelled names. I was even beginning to think Jack did that on purpose just to add a little mystery to his journey. Everything seemed to line up. The location, the name, the old farm. You could tell the house had work done on it over the years. It appeared that the once open porch that would have been there in the 1960’s was now enclosed and full of windows. I could almost see Uncle John sitting there gazing off to the mountains across the river. 

With a pinch of photos and a renewed optimism I headed home to see what I could find on the internet. I Googled Dickinson Lane and low and behold there's the 1910 farm that I just visited. This gave me one more clue in my quest to confirm that the porch I was in search of was indeed the one at 15 Dickinson Lane. 

Stay Tuned...

Dina Dubois: Found By Phone (Part Two)

Dina Dubois: Found By Phone (Part Two) 

By John R. Greenwood

Click here: The Dubois House on Huguenot Street 

 Google provided the number. Experience and a passion for story telling and writing provided the courage. It was a good thing I had taken a couple of extra days off this week because this story couldn’t wait. If you read my last post you will enjoy this one more. If you are new to the blog you may want to go there, then come back. Either way it’s an interesting package that continues to provide joy to the author. 

So, I find a Dina Dubois listing and phone number in Vermont. This must be the person I'm looking for. Dina was referenced in a book called The Hudson River by Jack Lewis. He self published the book in 1964. The story that mentions Dina was written in 1962. My hope was to find Dina and ask her if she recalled the meeting with Jack and see if she may have any related material on it. He mentions painting a picture of her wrapped in an sari. My thought was maybe, just maybe, she might have that painting? I was close but no cigar. 

Port holes as described on the sign

I mustered up the courage and dialed the phone. A male voice acknowledged I did indeed have the home of Dina Dubois. He was gracious and friendly. He said that Dina was out for a walk with friends and that if I could call back in about 45 minutes, he was sure Dina would like to speak to me. I had briefly explained the reason for my call and when I mentioned Huguenot Street and the Bevier-Elting house he assured me she would want me to call back. It was like a teaser on the nightly news, I was riveted to the phone. When I told my wife I had actually made contact she said the polite thing to do was give her at least an hour so as not to be a pest or intrusive. I complied but before the hour was up my phone rang and I recognized the number to be the one I had just dialed. I nervously fumbled with the handset. 

“Hello”, I said, loud with anticipation and little boy excitement. 

“Yes, is this John?”

“Yes, Dina Dubois?” 

“Yes, I’m Dina Dubois and my grandfather Jesse did live on Huguenot Street.” 

Bingo! The connection was complete. 

After politely correcting my mispronunciations of the names Dubois, Bevier, and Elting we took off on an hour long conversation that I’m sure could have continued into the wee hours of the morning had we not both been so tired and drained from the excitement of relaying both of our stories to each other. She was a delight to speak with and her interest in history and the stories that help keep it alive only made our phone time more special.

Dina was surprised by how I found her. She couldn't believe she'd never heard of Jack’s book and that he'd written about her specifically. As we talked more about the time frame and the one paragraph in the book that spoke of a woman from New Paltz College arriving to instruct others on painting she became silent. You could sense that she was rewinding a fifty year movie in her head. I was reading the passage to her over the phone and when I got to the part where Jack describes the instructor from India wrapping Dina in, “yards and yards of the loveliest of colored cloths.”, she uttered an “Oh my.” She went on say that she was certain she had a picture from around that time period that shows her wrapped in an Indian sari--a colorful one. She said she was tempted to start looking for it right then and there because she was so taken by the passage. She also recalled attempting a couple of paintings using a palette knife at the time. She couldn’t recall if those paintings of hers still existed but she wasn’t counting out the possibility. After reading the text and hearing her describe her extroverted father being there, we came to the conclusion that maybe he mentioned his daughter's paintings and asked Jack if he might take a look at her work. It’s pure speculation but when you put all the pieces together that scenario seemed to make perfect sense. She admitted that she was consumed with many things at the time and probably didn’t pay much attention to the visiting watercolor artist. 

Dina was quite curious about the book. She wondered how I discovered it and what connection I had to the Hudson River. She was surprised she had never heard of Jack Lewis. I explained that Jack Lewis was from Delaware and that he had done a similar book on the Delaware River. Eleanor Roosevelt was so impressed by his book of that river that she invited him to their home. It was there that she asked him to do a similar book on the Hudson. When a former First Lady asks you to compile a book of writing and painting about ‘her river’ you don’t ask questions, you simply say, “Why of course.” and so he did. I told her the story about me finding the book in the Lyrical Ballad Bookstore, a used book store in Saratoga Springs. I told her how I walked in the door and it was the first book I pulled from a stuffed shelf full of musty gold. The book changed my life in some ways I told her. It has given me a path to follow. 

I told her that I learned to swim and fish in the Hudson. My friends and I would camp along it’s banks in damp sleeping bags under the stars. We’d free float the waters above Luzerne with no boat or tubes, just a half dozen teenagers clad in cut-off Levis, heads bobbing in the water, free-spirits drifting down the Hudson. That’s why I fell in love with Jack’s book, his stories and his paintings. 

When Dina and I were done reminiscing and comparing notes we exchanged contact information. She provided a couple artist’s names she thought might like to learn more about Jack’s book and his work. I can’t wait to meet her in person so I can thank her face to face for responding to my phone call. 

Today, I found Dina Dubois, and we both found so much 

more. 

Here is an added surprise for Dina. I did not notice this before but as I was finishing up this piece I opened Jack's book and looked at the Acknowledgements in the back. There I found one more thank you, one more piece to a fifty year old puzzle. 

The Bevier-Elting House or Finding Dina Dubois

The Bevier-Elting House or Finding Dina Dubois
By John R. Greenwood

New Paltz, New York 

I’ve found myself entwined in another curious Jack Lewis, Hudson River connection. 

My job is in transportation. I work in the Hauling Department of a local convenience store chain with locations throughout New York State. Many of them can be found in the small cities, towns, and villages along both sides of the Hudson River, from Lake Placid, which is within a few miles of the source of the Hudson, to Newburgh just a few miles north of it’s final destination New York City. Since my initial discovery of Jack Lewis’ “The Hudson River”, I have found and documented many of the same places Jack included in his 1960’s journeys. Some of them are actually visible from the parking lot of places I’ve delivered to hundreds of times. 

On August 22, 2014 I visited Historic Huguenot Street in New Paltz, New York. Twelve Huguenot families settled here in the late 1600’s. By the 1700’s many of them had built stone homes. Many of those homes remain today. They are well maintained and beautiful to behold. Although these homes are along the Wallkill River and not the Hudson, they were of special interest to Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt. Franklin’s childhood home, Springwood Estate in Hyde Park, is just a few miles south on the banks of the Hudson. Since Eleanor Roosevelt is responsible for asking Jack Lewis to do his Hudson River book of paintings documenting places along the Hudson, I’m certain she felt it was important to include some references to the stone homes on Huguenot Street. It’s well documented that the Roosevelt’s had a special love for the stone homes in the area. 

On this day I planned to ride with one of my drivers on his route in the New Paltz area. When researching the location of Huguenot Street I “Googled” it. It was then that I realized that Historic Huguenot Street is only a block away from the New Paltz location where we would be making a delivery. I made sure I had my Jack Lewis book and my camera tucked away in my day pack. I met my driver at the Distribution Plant at 3:30am. The only thing left was to pray for the rain to stop and for the sun to come up early enough for me to catch a glimpse of one of the historic homes Jack painted in his book. 

When we exited the NYS Thruway at New Paltz the rain had stopped and it was beginning to get light out. I’d been on this route dozens if not hundreds of times. This store was actually on my route back in the 90’s when I was still driving and making deliveries but today had a special feel to it. 

I was like a little kid about to pull into the parking lot at Disney. It’s funny how something as simple as finding places another man painted fifty years ago could give you such an adrenaline rush. As we turned onto Route #32 I saw a sign I had passed one hundred times before and never noticed. Historical Huguenot Street was within my grasp. I asked my driver Pete to pull over to the side of now quiet Route #32.  I jumped out before he realized what I was doing. I yelled back to him, “I’ll meet you at the store!” I was grinning from ear to ear. 

My legs and joints were as stiff as a dry board from our two and a half hour ride, I hobbled down the street like an injured Harrison Ford with the Lost Ark in view. In less than 100 yards all I could see was historical markers and stone houses--some dating back to the late 1600’s. In the morning light I’d found my Holy Grail for the day. The Bevier-Elting House stood there with open arms welcoming me and my camera. She stood there strong and proud, in all her grace, staring back at me as if to say,”Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you!”

I was so excited that when I tried to pull Jack’s book out of my pack, I dropped my camera and it bounced across the pavement. I wanted the book out so I could compare the 1962 painting to the 2014 version that I was looking at. When the camera skidded to a stop, my heart did the same. If my camera had broken at that moment I may never have been heard from again. I lifted her gently, said a Hail Mary, and checked her vital signs. She's a tough little SONY. I patted her scratchy viewfinder and began clicking away.  I was in writer-photographer-historian-artist-heaven for awhile. The street was eerily silent, I was screaming for joy.

In this post I included various shots I took that morning comparing the book’s black and white photographs of Jack’s watercolor paintings done in 1962 to the photographs I was taking at 6:30 in the morning in 2014. 

I would tell you that discovering Huguenot Street and the Bevier-Elting House made my day but that would be lying. As if finding another connection to Jack’s Hudson River book wasn’t enough I later found yet one more that has me ready to set out on another story-mining expedition. In Jack’s book he speaks of a young girl whose painting he’s asked to critique. 

Here is an excerpt from the book where he describes the meeting:

"The Hudson River" - Jack Lewis 

I said to myself,”What are the odds of finding Dina Dubois, that young women from 1962?” It seemed reasonable. Google, now being man’s second best friend might provide some assistance. I sat down at computer, took a shovel full of dirt, tossed it over my shoulder, and began digging once again. Look out Dina Dubois where ever you are! 

 "The Hudson River" - Jack Lewis

One day later, the male voice on the phone responded to my question, “Is there a Dina Dubois who lives at this number who might have a connection to Huguenot Street?” 

The man said, “Why yes there is, but she’s out for a walk with friends right now.” 

He said, “She loves talking about her history with Huguenot Street so if you could call back in about forty-five minutes I’m sure she would enjoying speaking with you.”

As an old timer once said to me, “Wouldn’t that dunk yer hat in the creek!”

Did you ever notice how time drags when Dina’s out for a walk.

Tick tock

Tick tock

Tick tock

To be continued...