"That's my grandpa!"

I saw my grandpa's name in writing before.  He had written me boxes of letters when I was a kid telling me how much he loved me and that he couldn't wait to see my sister and me at our next visit.  There is a copy of his obituary in my parents' keepsake cabinet with his name “Lyle Bellrichard” sprawled across the top in bold letters that I studied for a period of time after his death.  That name was so familiar- so common.  I had been surrounded by it in so many ways that it began to lose its uniqueness.  I would always think of it fondly, as I was close to my grandpa, but it just became a name.  That feeling of apathy toward my father's family name rushed out of me the other day, however, while I was working a shift on the processing floor at the Wisconsin Historical Society (WHS).

Fortunately, my work station at WHS is positioned next to the friendly people in local government documents who are anxious to get to know their fellow processors.  One of the local government document student workers and I shared conversations about our cats and families and debated who had the strangest name.  Since my parents could not decide on whose last name to give their children, a hyphen was stuck between Dubert and Bellrichard making me the only student in my grade school who was allowed to abbreviate their last name to a set of initials.  Despite my extraordinary case, it was quickly realized that we were both blessed with unique surnames that very few people could pronounce but most could remember because of their oddness. 

My oddities came in handy that fateful morning at WHS as I was asked by this student worker if I knew a Nettie Bellrichard.  I did not recognize the name when I heard it, but because Bellrichard is not a common name around these parts, I inquired about the document she was holding in her hands.  The record was a petition for aid that this unknown Nettie had applied for in 1916.  I was slightly intrigued at this point but still unsure how I was connected to this woman.  As we looked deeper into the document there was his name, Lyle Bellrichard, listed as a dependent of Nettie.  Even though I had seen that name thousands of times prior, I was shocked.  I instantly turned into the same little girl from years ago who was so excited to see her grandpa on weekly visits.  As soon as I saw that name I yelled out, “That's my grandpa!”  Suddenly, I was surrounded by senior archivists who had seen this kind of discovery so many times in their careers - you'd figure they'd be numb by now- yet they were just as excited.  There was some major celebrating after this point.  We were telling everyone within a ten-foot radius about what just happened.  And I hate to admit it, but I even did a little fist pumping into the air from pure joy (not my best celebratory reflex).  In honor of the good news, my supervisor granted me an excuse from work for five minutes to photocopy this record; then later I found free time to call my dad with the story.  My elation continued through five hours of classes and the evening until I went to sleep that night.

Why was this document such a big deal?  I'm pretty sure I wasn't joyous over the fact that my great-grandmother had to sign up for the dole after her husband died leaving her to care for two children.  I wasn’t thrilled to learn for the first time that my grandpa had to suffer losing his father when he was only two-years old.  This petition for aid that Nettie filed presented me with so many questions and sadness, but I still grinned like a lunatic, similar to the time I met Kevin Bacon when I was in high school (an eighteen-year old girl couldn’t ask for anything more).  To me, this document was a broken story that I had to piece together.  When I spoke with my father shortly after the discovery he started filling in some of the missing information, like how Nettie’s husband died of tuberculosis and that they had to leave Canada and move back to Prairie du Chien to be with family.  Even though I know very little of the Bellrichard half of my name, I started tracing their story in my head with the little information I was given that day.  In ten seconds I was given a name for my great grandmother, a woman I had no prior knowledge of, and I learned how her family struggled but still managed to survive, despite so many tragedies.  And the only reason I was able to understand the people listed on this petition was because of my grandpa and his name.

This piece of my family's past did indeed make me proud. It showed the hardships my grandpa faced in his life, and somehow I feel like his determination to persevere has been passed on to me. This has been one of my favorite days at work, and it reaffirmed why I want a place in the archival profession.

-Michelle Dubert-Bellrichard