Part I. Part2
Arthur Daniel Hoffman Jr. was born at 1 am on January 16, 1915. He was delivered
by a mid-wife whose name is illegible, in this house at 1504 Fisher, Fort Wayne, Indiana. At the time my grandfather was working for his father Daniel who was a painting contractor, painting schools, movie theaters, large commercial buildings. Arthur, Thyra and Arthur Jr lived in the Fisher St house until my dad was five. The family then moved to Indianapolis and my grandfather opened his own painting and decorating business. Thyra started working for the state of Indiana in their Dept. of Natural Resources, she retired in 1971. They lived at 2925 N. New Jersey St in what is now the Meridian Park Historic District. The house no longer exists, but it was a neighborhood of big Four Square family homes with welcoming front porches and lots of trees. At the end of my dad’s sophomore year of high school, before he started his junior year they moved to another big Four Square at 3057 N Park Ave, still in the Meridian Park Historic District.
His first two years of High School were spent at Arsenal Technical High School.
In 1932 and 33 he attended Shortridge High School. During that time he was active in Sketch Club, Drama League and Art Staff of the Annual. He provided cartoons for the yearbooks in 1932 and 1933. He didn’t appear to participate in any of those clubs at Arsenal, which was a huge school. Interesting because he was winning awards and ribbons for his art as he became a teen and competed at the Indiana State Fair for several years.
The 1932 Cartoons
!933 Cartoons His cartooning has evolved.
His bio his Senior year.
His graduation picture.
The resemblance isn’t as clear in this picture altho like mine the corners of his mouth turn up so he seems to always be smiling just a little bit. We have the same ears, same hair line and same cheek bones and nose. Although it doesn’t show in this picture he has a wonky left eye, something else we share. Means out left side is our best side.
This is the picture from the Sketch Club group photograph and I get that same look on my face when I must have my picture taken. He was 17 and I was 30. This was the first picture I found of him and I nearly fainted, I am his mini-me, his doppelgänger. I know that face, I recognize it, I wanted to remember him but that is impossible, as familiar as he is to me, there are no memories. I am told he had blue eyes like Paul Newman blue. We have the same eyes if not exactly the same shade of blue, mine are more gray blue, think air force blue.
Through the nephews I have found out that he was always happy and cheerful. All he ever wanted to do was be an artist. He rolled his own cigarettes, probably a hold over from time in the military and eventually went to cigars. I got his happy disposition, something that has always irritated some because they wrongly believe nothing bothers me. Things bother me, they don’t stop me. I am a reflection of my inner world, not the world around me. We have art in common, although I never thought to do it for a living, it was something I kept for me. My career path was in the arts; publishing, photography, TV, advertising, creative just not as an artist usually.
Painting by my dad
Painting by me of my youngest son and our neighbors Bulldog taken from a photograph of mine.
We aren’t the same style, but I would like to paint in a much looser way like him. I work primarily in water color because of a reaction to oils. I have done some in acrylic but requires a looser hand. One thing I do wish is being able to talk to him about the process. I can visualize a subject in my mind and draw it with my eyes closed, I wonder if he could do that too. One of the many things I will never know like the sound of his voice, his laugh, his heart beat.
I never knew how much I missed him until I found him. Now I want to know everything, to be able to absorb every detail about him and his life. To know where he was when, walk the same streets, be in the same rooms, touch what he touched so if I could imagine him there I could imagine me there too. The emotions are overwhelming, how can you love someone you never knew or feel connected to someone who is in every other way a total stranger. Yet looking at my life, what I have done, where I live emotionally, my values, my coping mechanisms, my concerns, my projects and politics I am very much my father’s child. Nature or nurture? In my case it was nature, his genes contributed what he couldn’t as a parent and in the end it was enough. In a way I feel as loved as if he was there everyday for me because he was, I just didn’t know it until now.
So next is what he did between high school graduation and WWII.