About Me

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Riverside County, California, United States
I am a native of Illinois and grew up in Wilmette, a northern suburb of Chicago. I have one sibling, an older brother. After dropping out of college, I moved to California in 1973 with my first husband. I married my present husband, Butch, in 1977 and got 4 children in the deal. They have gone on to make me a grandmother 24 times over and a great-grandmother of 13. Three years after I married Butch I returned to school. I got my bachelors and masters degrees in speech communication and was a professor in that field for 13 years. I retired in 2001 to return to school and get my doctorate in folklore. Now I meld my two interests - folklore and genealogy - and add my teaching background, resulting in my current profession: speaker/entertainer of genealogically-related topics. I play a number of folk instruments, but my preference is guitar, which I have been playing since 1963. I am a Board Certified genealogist and more information on all this, as well as direct contact info, is on my Circlemending website.

Saturday, September 11, 2010

A beloved uncle, a war, and a Dobro

(Links embedded in the text below give the reader more information about the Dobro as an instrument and a piece of history.)

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Once upon a time, a young man fell in love with a young woman and they planned to marry.


This love story was interrupted by WWII, changing the course of history in general, and those young lives in particular. That young man, Curtis Lee Hudgins, is buried in Normandy.


But just before he left for his tour of duty that took his life, his beloved Dorothy gave him an instrument - a Dobro - that he cherished and played before he went overseas.


Curtis's niece, my friend Betty Joe Gentry, told me that the Dobro had been part of her family's household for as long as she could remember: her mother, Ila Hudgins Gentry, ended up with the instrument following the death of her brother Curtis. Betty Joe's "Uncle Curtis" was memorialized in their home because that instrument remained a constant reminder of his existence and the family's love of the fallen soldier.

Curtis was remembered in other ways, as well. Ila named her only son after her beloved brother (sadly, Curtis Gentry died just a few years ago and, like his uncle, left a grieving family behind).
And the United States government also acknowledged Private Hudgins's ultimate sacrifice:




I first met Betty Joe in 1973 when we both lived in or near Chicago. I was invited to her family's home in South Wilmington, Illinois (not far from Chicago, near the Indiana border) where I immediately noticed the Dobro, a 1935 collector's item, and asked who played it. Ila told me that, though she had played with it at one time, no one used the instrument any more; that it remained on display in the home in memory of her brother. I told her that if she ever decided to sell it, to let me know. She assured me that that would never happen.

Betty Joe and I lost touch after I moved to California and she left Chicago for other areas before settling in South Wilmington, where she was on hand to assist her mother when Ila needed help in her old age.

Through the wonders of the Internet, Betty Joe and I found each other again, about 25 years after our last visit. One of the first things I asked was whether her mother still had, and cherished, the Dobro. I was assured that it was still a fixture in her home (and she still was not interested in selling it). There it stayed until Ila was done with her journey on this earth, leaving Betty Joe and her sister to settle the estate. I got the call: Did I still want the Dobro? I assured my friend that the instrument would have a special home in my house where I would restore it and play it in my genealogy music programs. And so it has become one of my cherished instruments.


I have a tendency to "name" all my instruments; this particular one is no exception. Its name: "Curtis," of course.

But Betty Joe has not forgotten her uncle, or his namesake. She has a special memorial in her yard, with stones for all of her family members whose graves are not local to her new home in Cookeville, Tennessee (where she moved after her mother's passing). I spent a few days with her this summer and got photos of that memorial:

And Private Curtis Lee Hudgins's marker in particular:

Our ancestors (and many of their possessions) do not die when their bodies do . . . they continue to be part of the legacy which makes up our heritage.

(To hear the Dobro's unique sound, check these YouTube videos: Jerry Douglas, Martin Gross, and Ivan Rosenberg. These three musicians demonstrate completely different styles - blues, "old timey," and bluegrass, respectively. Enjoy.)

4 comments:

  1. You are a great storyteller, and this is a great story.

    That Dobro looks brand new. How wonderful that you have it and continue to memorialize the original owner.

    My current favorite player of this type of instrument is Mike Auldridge. He plays a Mike Auldridge (what else?) model of Beard Respohonic guitar. I also love the playing of my friend, Matt DeSpain, who is currently a member of J.D. Crow and the New South.

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  2. What a wonderful story! I agree with GrannyPam - the story is great and you tell it beautifully! I lost a great Uncle in WWII and his story was also a very sad one. Unfortunately living his entire life in England has left us with very little to remember him by. But I saw to it that his family claimed his medals from the British Army and they are now home with us.
    The Dobro also caught my eye. My Dad loved the Dobro, and it was the last instrument he played before his passing last year at Christmastime. This story has touched me in many ways. Thanks so much for sharing!

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  3. This is a great story. I love the fact that the people live on through the things that they have left to their families.

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  4. It's a wonderful story but the part that intrigues me most is the photo of the memorial stone. I've long thought it would be fun to create a walkway with ancestor stones and I've always pictured them as concrete disks with the names of people I've become fond of in my research stamped into them .

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