My squirrel bins, those containers of Distractions of All Things Family, frequently offer up mysteries, usually in the form of memorabilia that make me wonder why they were kept, and why I have them.
The small, 2.5” brass-toned badge marked Augusta Emergency Unit 83 is one item I thought would be easy to identify and attach to a more recent relative.
How many ways can I be wrong? All of them, apparently.
No one in my earlier generations has been a firefighter, police officer, paramedic, or any kind of auxiliary, and although my father was honored for pulling neighbors out of their burning homes, he was just a good Samaritan who did what he could. (It would have been comforting to know that he had planned an escape route instead of having to jump out a second story window for lack of any other escape!) My aunt was a WWII U.S. Army (Civilian) aircraft warning observer, but there is no indication she was issued such a badge. So I have no clear indication of this badge’s owner. Further research into my family materials gave no help, even in identifying the department that might have issued the badge. A long day at the Maine State Library searching local newspapers for clues was unrewarding.
I sought help from Chief Audette and Deputy Chief Groder of the Augusta (Maine) Fire Department. While they were interested, their departmental historical materials also gave no clue as to the origins of this badge, other than to indicate it was probably used before the 1960s when the department’s history is more complete – but still unhelpful. Because we all felt it had to have been in some way attached to the Fire Department, the badge remains with Chief Audette.
Not every distraction from my squirrel bins will yield a story, greatly to my annoyance.
Although the eagle is facing left (sinister) with head lowered, it is holding neither olive branch nor arrows in its talons, either of which might indicate a peacetime or wartime attitude. Newspaper research from about 1900 to 1950, an arbitrary choice of time period that might fit the badge’s use, gave no hints, no clues, and no help.
Not every distraction from my squirrel bins will yield a story, greatly to my annoyance. While this badge no longer hides in my bins of memorabilia, it resides in my mind as a story I have yet to complete, one I cannot leave permanently untold. I couldn’t Find Hattie until I found her. The owner of this badge will remain unfound . . . until I find him – or her.
Such is the lot of genealogists, historians, and researchers who search for that one ancestor, that one artifact, that one fact, date, or name to make the story complete. We keep looking and thinking about what we can’t find until we find it (or until serendipity lets us find it!). Perhaps our personal badges should display the image of a dog with a bone!
