Jewish World Review Feb. 21, 2000 / 28 Shevat, 5761
http://www.jewishworldreview.com --
I GOT a bit more than I bargained for when I bought a used book in
Detroit several weeks ago.
Inside my copy of "Come, Tell Me How You Live," by Agatha Christie
Mallowan, lurked a letter written in December 1977, by a young
man in North Hollywood, Calif., to a woman in Windsor, Ont.
Perhaps an honorable person would have simply tossed out the
letter, but I wasted no time fishing it from its open envelope. I
couldn't resist. A 23-year-old letter tucked in a book about an
archaeological dig - could it get more romantic?
I found a chatty page-and-a-half missive, clearly not a love letter,
but an affectionate note. Matthew wrote of his work with lab rats
and hopes of going to Israel or Europe. He wondered if he might
find a job he liked more. He sent news of mutual friends who were
getting married, and wished Betty the best for 1978.
A note between friends, a written snapshot of a 20-something
wondering what to do with his life. He'd probably be in his 50s now.
Being of a sentimental turn of mind, I wondered whatever
happened with Matt and Betty.
I fired up the computer and got to work. After all, I have worked as
a reporter for more than a decade, and have done genealogy work
for about five years. I know a thing or two about finding people,
and I enjoy the hunt.
Matthew had an unusual last name, so I started my search by
simply typing his name (Matt and Matthew, plus the surname) into
Google.com, the search engine I like best. A few Web sites
appeared. Several referenced a man with the same name, listing
him as a research scientist with an environmental agency. (I'm
being deliberately vague so this man doesn't get hundreds of
e-mails.) Same unusual name, a scientist - it sounded like a
possible match, so I shipped him an e-mail describing what had
happened, specifically mentioning that the writer had been trying to
decide if he wanted to go overseas.
The reply came the same day:
"I don't remember writing such a letter, but I don't remember
everything I ever wrote, so it's not impossible that I wrote it. And
that particular issue hasn't gone away. So, if you could send it, I'll
let you know if it was me. - Matt"
I sent back an e-mail with the writer's return address, figuring that
would help jog his memory, and asked if it did.
"Nope. Why did you think it was me/how do you even know of
me/how did you track me down?"
Detecting a note of anxiety, I hastened to reassure him, outlining
my methods and motivations.
Our correspondence ended a couple of e-mails later, once we had
determined he wasn't the correct Matt. Then I did something I
should have done in the first place: I went to
www.switchboard.com and typed in Matt's name. Bingo. I called
and left a message.
A few days later, Matthew No. 2 called me back. We talked for a
while - it turned out he had met Betty while working on a kibbutz in
the 1970s, but they had lost touch. He had never made that trip he
wanted. Instead, Matt had left the lab rats and took a job as a
secondary-school science teacher. He had a wife and child, and like
his doppelnamer, yearned to go back overseas. He still lives in the
same area as the postmark on that old envelope.
We talked about genealogy and life in Israel before he asked if I
could mail him the letter he had written so many years ago.
That happened a couple of weeks ago. I wonder what he thought
when he received that snapshot of his past. Did it spur him to find
some way to make his dream of travel come true? Or did he read it,
smile nostalgically over the young man who wrote it, and perhaps
tuck it into a book, where someone else will find it years from
A letter and a life
By Vanessa Winans
Vanessa Winans is a writer with the Toledo Blade. To comment click here.