A Whirlwind of Family

A couple of months ago, my great-uncle David called me while I was driving home from my mom’s Sunday dinner. This may not sound abnormal, but David Bair is almost eighty-eight, and I’m unsure if he’s ever called me before. He is one of my grandmother’s older brothers and the only one still living. There were ten Bair children—to which my grandmother was the second youngest—and now only two remain. So, I take any chance to talk with him seriously.

While on the phone call with my great-uncle, his excitement was palpable. He told me about a book of family history he found after his sister died earlier this year. The book details the journey of our people from Germany to South Carolina. There were interesting facts about our ancestors having to build a log raft and travel 300 miles down the Rhine River so they could construct a proper ship and then traverse the Atlantic. I can’t imagine that journey. It took me around twenty hours in a cramped airplane to cross the Atlantic a few decades ago. I get seasick on normal seas, so a voyage in tight quarters with substandard sanitation for weeks must have been brutal.

It took me a few months to get a chance to make the trek down to Orangeburg, South Carolina, to see him. Since that side of the family had planned a reunion at Myrtle Beach, and I knew he couldn’t travel that far, I decided to make a detour. I left on Thursday afternoon after logging out of my work computer—the perks of working from home—and headed East. I added another detour and drove to Fayetteville, North Carolina, to pick up my uncle David Henkel—my mom’s brother.

When we finally got to our hotel in Orangeburg, I was exhausted. I’d driven somewhere around 350 miles and was spent. Early the next morning, we woke up, repacked the truck, picked over a continental breakfast, and checked out of the Holiday Inn. We arrived at David Bair’s house fifteen minutes later. He was waiting for us on his front stoop with a big smile. He was visibly excited. After a short greeting, he ushered us into his house and immediately opened the history book. He told the same story he’d told me when he called a few months earlier about our ancestors riding a log raft downstream some 300 miles so they could build a ship to cross the Atlantic. That still blows my mind.

He decided we needed to eat breakfast at the Cracker Barrel in town, and who were we to argue with our elder? David Bair was a man on a mission, and he needed fuel! We hit the road after we’d had our fill of eggs, grits, and bacon. David Bair was determined to find us our own copy of the family history book, so we drove to his hometown in the farmlands surrounding Elloree, South Carolina. Then we just pulled up to random people’s houses. At the first house we stopped at, he told me to stay in the car because “A big ole guy with tattoos may scare these folks.” I chuckled and watched him labor up the steps and knock on the door.

When he got back in the truck, he told us that he hadn’t been to this house since he was around five years old. David Bair will be eighty-eight this year. He told us the last time he was at this house, he left with a goat. To hear it from David, he was the toughest of all five-year-olds to ever live. When the owner told him that if he could pin the billy goat to the ground, he could keep it. Well, not one to shy away from a challenge, David said he wrenched the goat’s horns around and hip-tossed it to the ground, earning himself a new pet. I said maybe the man didn’t come to the door because you took his goat last time. We laughed and drove on to the next house.

David Henkel and I realized very early in our trip that we were on a wild goose chase. I loved it. The next house proved another opportunity for David Bair to flex his gift of conversation. As I pulled into the driveway, a man on a riding mower slowly came to a stop. The man’s wife—looking alarmed—came out of the garage and walked towards my truck. When David Bair got out, he calmed everyone’s nerves with his jolly charm. The man’s name was Gilbert, and his wife was Sandra. One or both of them were somehow related to us. David Bair grew up in the area with Gilbert, and Gilbert—almost a foot taller than David—was one of the few people on Earth who tackled David Bair in football.

They were very nice, and after forty-five minutes of David Henkel and I making awkward conversation with Sandra—as David and Gilbert discussed many topics—we left. They didn’t have a copy of the book we were after. David Henkel and I scoured the internet as David Bair talked but came up short there, too. It’d be a miracle to find one still in print somewhere.

We drove to no less than five graveyards and visited with ancestors long gone. We spoke to a groundskeeper at the Bochette cemetery—another cousin—and took photos of a few headstones as David Bair shared his gift of gab with our cousin. There were graves for missionaries, infants, matriarchs, and veterans from every war from the Civil War through the modern day. The live oaks and pecan trees watched as we communed with the dead. The Spanish moss swayed in remembrance, and resurrection ferns reminded us that one day, we will be renewed.

After hearing more personal stories of David Bair’s greatness, we drove into “downtown” Elloree. The town looks like South Carolina’s Mayberry, only much smaller. The museum was our next best bet to find the book. They didn’t have it either. The museum curator gave us little speakers that gave audio presentations for each exhibit. David Bair wouldn’t have it. We put them in our pockets and let him guide us. I wanted to hear his stories more anyway and didn’t care if they were true or not. I saw family names on many exhibits and pictures along the walls.

As someone with few roots anywhere, it was refreshing to be in a place where my family was deeply rooted. If I read one of the exhibits correctly, the founder of Elloree—who may or may not be a relative—bought the land the town now sits from a Hungerpiller. The Hungerpillers were one of the families we hail from. My great-grandmother was a Hungerpiller. They were one of the families in the elusive book that came over from Germany.

What I love about spending time with my great-uncle David are his stories. I genuinely don’t care if they’re tall tales or facts. I just love his enthusiasm to tell them. He’s a natural storyteller, and I’ve always admired that. That’s something we’re losing as this generation passes away. I’ve heard it said, “Don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story,” and he embodies that. All joking aside, he is a wealth of family history, and spending time with him is like drinking from a firehose. I couldn’t take it all in, but dang if I didn’t try. Even now, I’m still processing all the stories from that trip and have barely scratched the surface here.

Late that afternoon, we said our goodbyes and turned the truck East. David Henkel and I had a three-hour drive ahead of us to meet the rest of our family. We arrived at a restaurant in Myrtle Beach just as our family was about to order. Many were surprised to see us. It was a great welcome after a long drive.

The next few days were spent catching up and telling stories from our adventures with David Bair. His only living sister, my great-aunt Judi, was the queen of the reunion. It was amazing to see so many smiling faces. Outside of a funeral here and there, I hadn’t seen many of these people in over a decade—or longer. It was great to get reacquainted with so many of my people. I was one of the only cousins from my generation who made it, and I hope that changes next year. We hope to make these reunions an annual event like they used to be. Family is everything, and our stories are timeless so long as someone is still telling them. I hope to help carry that torch.

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If you liked this one, check out this article from last year about that same family: