Jeff, Richard and Don Holiman, Part 1

 Last spring Jeanette Holiman Stewart, my wife Barbara and I had the joy of visiting the multigenerational family of Richard Holiman in Florida.  It was really a genealogical fest as we compared notes on the Hollyman paternal line from England to Virginia in 1650 and the diaspora throughout America.  Along the generations, the name has been spelled several ways. The Holiman spelling largely emerged when the Warren Holliman family in the late 1830s moved from the Carolinas first to Alabama and then to Arkansas, dropping an ‘l’ along the way.

This blog also introduces a new genealogist of our shared lineages, my daughter Grace A. Holliman, pictured right, an English major from Virginia Tech gifted with story writing skills. As with me, she appreciates how our families have lived and moved through history.  In this article, she interviews our distant cousins. – Glenn N. Holliman

The Richard S. Holiman Family Story, Part 1 by Grace A. Holliman

“He wasn’t afraid to go off the beaten path….” – Jeff Holiman on his father, Richard Holiman

As I began my virtual interview with Jeff Holiman and his father, Richard, the first thing I noticed was the genuine connection between the two generations. Jeff (b.1971) and Richard (b. 1946), were at ease sitting next to each other at a table in Jeff’s home in Clearwater, Florida. As we began our introductions I had the pleasure of meeting Gina, Jeff’s wife, who has been an important contributor to Jeff’s Holiman family research. Jeff also credited his aunt, Lynda Holiman Jones, with sparking his interest in genealogy over twenty-five years ago.

Left to right, Richard S. Holiman, Kimberly D. and Jeff Holiman, children of Richard and Ryan B. and Jayden S. Holiman, children of Jeff.

“I was in college when my parents lived in Hong Kong,” Jeff, now a mortgage banker,  said. “While most people went home for spring break and Christmas, my sister and I flew to China. It was the late 1980’s and China was changing, opening to the western world by making and selling products that Americans wanted to buy."

Richard was part of this process. He began as a buyer for Eckerd Drugs and had a firsthand look at the role that factories played in small Chinese communities. “Entire villages were employed by these factories,” Richard said. “Children would come by after school in search of work. Often there were jobs they could do, like placing stickers on a package to keep it closed.” Richard reflected and continued, “These were poor people trying to make a living. All they wanted to do was work to get ahead and take care of the older generation.”

Gina (left) wife of Jeff with Jeanette Holiman Stewart, author of the Ancestry.com Hollyman Family site. They stand in front of a genealogical map produced by the Richard Holiman families. 

Jeff recalled a trip to Beijing’s Tiananmen Square. “On one corner there was a solider with a machine gun and on another corner, a Kentucky Fried Chicken. The KFC had a long line wrapped around the building. Because we were Westerners, our guide took us to the front of the line where we were served quickly. It was uncomfortable. As we ate, I watched our guide consume every morsel of chicken off the bone. I compared his bare chicken bones to our pile of bones with bits of meat and gristle still on them that we were going to throw away.”

 Jeff remembered how Richard would take him down streets where guides didn’t take tourists. “Dad would take us to see everything. We would walk around the block and see men squatting in alleys playing Mahjonng or Go. He wasn’t afraid to go off the beaten path to show us what life was really like.” Jeff paused and added, “I have deep respect for the vast, rich history of the Asian culture and appreciation for the life my parents gave me in the U.S.”

Richard Holiman in the 1980s in Tiananmen Square, Beijing, China

Richard, the well dressed western businessman in China at a factory four decades ago.

As this part of our conversation ended, Richard quietly added, “People in Asian cultures are amazing.”  With that, the three of us paused and I realized how profound Richard’s career had been for him and his family. As our conversation continued I began to understand where Richard, the youngest of three sons of a Baptist preacher, inherited his proclivity for exploration and learning and caring for others.  - Grace A. Holliman

Note: the story will be continued in the next blog.  To learn more about Hollyman and associated families, please go to the comprehensive archive of over 3,500 items at www.bholliman.com.  This site also contains information on the parental Hollyman lines (various spellings) as far back as the 1300s in England.

 

 

 

 

 

Fifty Years Ago Revisted, Part 4

by Grace A. Holliman 

A Reflection after the Visit

 There is a picture of my father standing near an ammunition box in front of his living quarters in Vietnam with one of the ladies who kept the offices clean.  Growing in the ammunition box on the far right are marigolds. The marigolds were planted by a tall, thin young soldier named Leo who left Vietnam before his one-year tour was over due to the death of his father. 

Below, a close up of Leo's marigolds.  They bloomed from October 1969 to at least late January 1970 when Dad returned home.   My father watered these marigolds after Leo’s departure, thus keeping alive a fragment of growth and beauty in an area devastated by gunfire, rockets and Agent Orange.  

Fifty years later, on sunny day in late August 2019, I witnessed a reunion. These two men, brought together briefly in a foreign country by forces beyond their control, reunited once again in a small town in Iowa. 

In human life, fifty years is a long time. It is a long time to suffer or to thrive. I believe it is human nature to experience both. One might assume that my dad’s reunion with Leo was spent reliving their time together in Vietnam, but that’s not what happened. 

Instead, they talked about all that had occurred since Vietnam. I discovered that both my father and Leo had been schoolteachers. They pursued hobbies and were active participants in their communities. Leo is an amazing cook (my dad is an amazing eater!) and we enjoyed pasta salad, fresh tomatoes and Iowa corn for lunch. 

The tears and hugs between my Dad and Leo were not due to sadness or grief from the past.

Right, Leo, Tom and Grace in the garden.

Their emotions appeared to be expressing appreciation - appreciation for the fifty years of life that was now behind them, appreciation for having had the time to contribute knowledge, beauty and kindness to the world and for not allowing the tragedy of war and the trauma of untimely deaths to have hindered their ability to experience lives of fulfillment.

I believe Leo and Dad shed tears of gratitude, knowing that so many did not have the chance to reunite as they did, fifty years after the war. - GAH

Fifty Years Ago Revisited, Part 3

by Glenn N. Holliman

The Visit 

Soon Leo and I were swapping stories and catching up on our respective histories.  Tom elaborated on their shared hobby of collecting antiques and how they both ended up moonlighting in fine arts auctions. Daughter Grace listened politely taking in every word, probably thinking about what she would share with her grandchildren someday.  

Both Leo and Tom had long careers in education teaching English and social studies.  We had much to share exchanging stories and what we had learned from life. 

Tragically, only six weeks after his father’s death in 1969, Leo’s mother died of cancer.  Leo, not unsurprisingly, had to cope with the bitterness of time lost in the last year of their lives.... like soldiers of every war, Leo had his sacrifices.


As evening approached we moved to the garden. The white vino disappeared and soon another bottle was opened!  Conversation flowed as easily as the wine.

Right, Tom and Leo.

Grace presented Leo and Tom one of her hand made all natural candles that they could light for Christmas.  My wife Barb had prepared a framed 1969 picture of Leo (below) and me in our jungle uniforms posing on the steps to brigade chaplain's office, our quarters.

Well, that triggered the tears as a couple of old fellas stared back at a faded color representation of ourselves as very youthful soldiers in a time and place now very far away. 

In right back ground is an ammunition box with marigolds sprouting out of it.  Leo took some flower seeds from home and planted them in Asian soil.  There they took root, and started blooming.  Sadly a few weeks later Leo was called home for his Father's funeral.  After he left, the marigolds continued to grow and flower bringing a bit of cheer to homesick G.I.s.

That evening we lingered over dinner.  Leo had prepared elegantly wrapped gifts for us - a exquisite Nippon bowl for Grace and a pair of European crystal colored wine glasses for Barb and me.  All made it safely home including a one hundred year old miniature souvenir scotch bottle.

 
Right, Leo in 1969 prepared a late night snack over two watering cans.  Note the Big Red One patch on his sleeve.  The uniform is of that era.




Below,  He set the table for another dinner in 2019 in Iowa.  Tom and Grace in the kitchen prepared the meal.  The decor is no longer Army green but one that reflects a passion for the decorative arts.

The next morning, Leo and Tom took a walk and Grace a mile or so run through the town.  Already an early chill swept over the Great Plains.

After a long brunch, we adjourned again to the garden gradually moving to a lingering goodbye for it was time for us to go.  Leo and I had our pictures taken by his marigolds just as we had decades ago.

All of us hugged as we said goodbye, family to family, Leo and I experiencing something of a time gone but etched in our souls as long as we shall live.

As Grace and I slowly drove away, some thing flashed through my mind, that venerable refrain that old soldiers never die, they just fade away.  Overly sentimental yes, but a telling reminder that days are always growing fewer.

It had been good, very good to visit with Leo Wiley and learn of his long and useful life in service to his community.  Thanks Leo and Tom for our chance to rediscover yesterday and find comfort in today.

Next blog, some reflections from Grace

Fifty Years Ago Revisited, Part 2

by Glenn N. Holliman

The Arrival

So two generations have come and gone since my plane went wheels up at Long Binh, Vietnam on January 31, 1970.  Wheels down in August 2019 on this trip was a landing in Minneapolis where my daughter Grace was there from Virginia to meet me.  We caught a Twins baseball game and the next morning drove our rental car south.  Minnesota has lakes, 10,000 according to their license plates.  We passed a lot of them and plus huge fields of corn and soy beans.

Daughter Grace Holliman, born four years after I returned from Vietnam war. One of our favorite pass times - watching professional baseball.

We noticed Minnesota’s largest candy store (probably the world's hugest!).  The parking lot, several football field sizes, overflowed with cars.  Later an ethanol plant and a kitchen counter factory slipped by.  And more corn fields and lots of silos.  Obviously, we had arrived in a major food belt of America.

We motored our last few miles to see Leo Wiley and his long time friend, Tom.  Their town is tiny, largely devoid of people under the age of 50.  Grace lowered the mean age but I immediately sent the statistic soaring in the opposite direction.  It had been 50 years or say 600 months since my time in the Army.

Leo and Tom’s beautiful 'Arts and Craft' style home (pictured above)  sits literally at the end of town. Their lawn, immaculate and dazzling with flowers in well designed beds, borders (I am not exaggerating) miles and miles or rather thousands of acres of corn and soy beans.  The next morning I stood in the middle of the street and spied on the horizon a dozen or so farm silos. If green is your favorite color, Iowa in August is for you!

Oh yes, one could also stand in the middle of the street for almost as long as one would desire to do so.  A car might come by every hour or it might not.  

The sheriff did mosey by once AND waved.  That would not happen back east!  It was a nice feeling.

Although later it did dawn on me that someone might have reported another senior citizen in town with out-of-state license plates that probably needed checking out.  But I really don’t think so. 

As we drove up Leo and Tom's house, both came out and greeted us.  Leo and I hugged and  shed a tear or two.  I think I said something silly like we should get together every fifty years, and he quickly agreed.

Below in August 2019, a half century since Viet Nam service.  

He is still thin, tall, and like me a little stooped but he essentially looks the same. However, I have changed considerably, mostly around the middle.   I would have recognized Leo anywhere.

Grace and Tom took pictures.    It was great to see Leo Wiley and meet Tom (in the orange shirt), both retired school teachers.  We went inside and started talking and talking and listening and listening.

Next blog the Visit!