A History of Flight

My late friend, Mark C. Anderson, used to joke that he avoided the subject of genealogy because his forebears had been horse thieves somewhere in Europe. He was an extraordinary CPA and I had wondered why he was so adept at keeping the IRS from stealing from me.

Genealogy is interesting but not fascinating to me. My brother Graham and first cousin, Patrick, culminated years of study and have traced our roots back to 15th century France. Don't worry, I'm not going to bore you with a lot of name-dropping, just let you in on an embarrassing truth about my family tree. I often joke that my ancestors were thrown out of every respectable country in Europe. That is not altogether true. We fled. First, the Rives (the original spelling) were Huguenots, who, as you may know, lost their battle with the Catholic Church and more accurately, Louis XIV. We, of course, being good Protestants, took the money and ran. The original property purchase and home in England is still there, a country house in Dansforeshire. The title Mr. Rives bought from the King, along with the castle he built, has long since been lost in antiquity.

We were fiercely loyal to the English crown, from Day One. This worked to our advantage up to the time of King Charles I. We backed the wrong horse in the English Civil War. This all came to me as on January 30th, this Friday past, marked the 360th anniversary of King Charles I being beheaded for treason. Oliver Cromwell, as it turned out, was not a forgiving sort. This marked our hurried departure from England to land in what is now Virginia in the New World. No, you DAR snobs, not on the Mayflower.

Fast forward a couple of hundred years to our plantation in North Carolina perched atop a hill. It was a great view to watch the Union Army's advance to the sea. And obviously, we were on the opposite side of the scorecard in that little scrap. The end of the story has us meandering down into Alabama to become merchants and politicians (which is one reason Stephanie believes little of my passionate oratories).

I guess had we remained Catholic, I would be speaking French, sitting in a small cafe in Marseilles, wondering why the government wasn't protecting my job. Or, perhaps I would be living in Manchester, working in a government supported machine shop. Whatever. Now that the U. S. economy is falling into the abyss, one would expect a Reaves to flee. But where to? This is a world-wide contagion. Rumor has it that New Orleans is booming. If that were to happen, you can be darn sure I'll keep my heritage to myself.