Looking for the original Wilson via Indo.

Earlier today, I walked through a restored Dutch fort left over from colonialism that honors Indonesia's quest for independence in the aftermath of World War II. It had an interesting approach with 30 dioramas charting this history. Yes, like 5th grade but also like the Natural History Museum in New York, walking visitors through the revolution.

There were also a bunch of pictures depicting the era of independence from 1945 to 1949. The pictures were black and white and most were pretty boring, honestly. A few though really captured the era, with its layers of social class and earnest quest for freedom. These photographs quickly had me thinking about my grandfather who served in this part of the world as a doctor in WWII. I realized that these were a small window into that experience, as the photos were taken within months of his time in the South Seas among relatively similar cultures. The same omnipresent heat, the same agriculture, similar diet, the same goal of expelling the axis Japanese.

I know from my grandmother, Nana, that my grandfather, the original Wilson who I am named after, spent quite a bit of time in Papua New Guinea, stationed in an region called Bougainville Island. I toyed with the idea of getting out there, but it doesn't seem like a great place to visit. My understanding is that they are quite similar, since the islands are part of the same tectonic ring with similar topography from the active volcanoes that created the land in this part of the world. So Indo will be as close as I get to this part of the original Wilson's past.

As a result of this train of thought in the museum, I realized why I feel a deeper emotional connection to this area.

The reality is that I have been looking for connections to the original Wilson whenever I can my whole life, since I never met him. In fact, my dad never met him as he passed away from cancer before my parents met. This search has infused increased to places that were important to him, such as our family's beloved camp on Lake Kezar in Lovell, Maine (pictured above) and Rio (pictured below).

I am so lucky to have spent lots of time with my other three grandparents and love spending time with my grandmother in Baltimore. But there has always been that hole in my family tree, probably exasperated due to the closeness I have with the other three.

Thankfully, I have some of his personal effects and enjoyed looking at them every once and awhile, including his medical tools and two of his old cameras. These objects, and connections, are some of my most prized possessions. In fact those pictures I posted of the tsunami were taken using his old Nikon camera that I took around the globe on my travels before moving to the current Nikon DSLR.

We also have an incredible silk handkerchief from his time in WWII that I had professionally mounted and looks amazing even with its delicate nature and 60+ years. This handkerchief map was made by the Royal Air Force. It folds down to nothing and weathered the harsh climate along the equator. Super ingenious. Our section of the map shows parts of Indonesia, which probably helps explain the connection I have been feeling once arriving here. Even though I am about 1000 kilometers to the west of that map as I write this.

Being named after a family member who passed away before I was born has led to a ongoing internal question - how much am I like him? I know intellectually that I am composed of about 25% of his genes and DNA. But I have always hoped that being named after him, honoring his name, makes for a larger connection. I look at his pictures on display at my grandmothers's apartment and hope that I look like him. But I am bad at seeing those kind of similarities in a vacuum. Much less in my own face. My understanding is that I share his body type, which makes me happy.

The original Wilson set a pretty high and imposing bar - Harvard and Oxford trained doctor, a professor at Hopkins medical school, worked at the nascent WHO abroad in Rio de Janeiro and elsewhere. I am midstream in life, so it is a little hard to compare. But also, any kind of direct comparison seem like the wrong approach. I did enjoy thinking of him when I spent a summer working within the UN system in Geneva a number of years ago and figured that he would have been proud. I like to think he would be proud of this big adventure Mu and I are on now, too.

Of course, not everything about the endowment I received and feel with the original Wilson is perfect. We are all human, after all. For instance, I fear that part of that 'gift' of his DNA includes an increased risk to the types of cancer that claimed his life much too soon, of the mouth and throat. Is that part of my mortality? Perhaps.

I hope that today is the start of ongoing consideration and thought of the Original Wilson. I will never be able to create the same lived memories of watching him in the outdoors, or holding forth at a dinner party. Both of which I understand he did very well. But, for the next 2+ weeks, I will think of him living and working and serving in this climate. Seeing the rice paddies that stretch forever, or swimming in the clear warm, salt waters. I will do those same things, a family tradition passing from one Wilson to another.

If I can head home with a better understanding of his time here, it will be a huge win.

 

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