I Can Trace My Love for Russian History to That Day...

One hundred years ago tonight, July 16, 1918, Czar Nicholas Romanov, his wife, and 5 children were shot to death in the basement of a house in Ekaterinburg, Russia.

I was sitting in a history class in high school when I first learned about the Romanovs. We were shown a movie about them and I was mesmerized by their story. That was 45 years ago but I can still see that classroom in my mind. The screen was on the left side of the room. I was about two thirds of the way back, the room was dark, and their lives unfolded before me.

I remember when the program ended and the lights came back up, I wanted to cry. But when you're 15, that's the last thing you want to let your classmates see.

I would go on, over the years, to read everything I could find about them. I was fascinated by every detail of their lives: Nicholas and Alexandra's deep love for one another, their shared ancestry with Queen Victoria, the fact that he didn't want to rule but just be a father to their four beautiful daughters, Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia, and their hemophiliac son Alexia. Because of his malady, their association with the mad but charismatic monk Rasputin, would inevitably lead to their downfall. 

I remember my amazement at seeing a picture of Nicholas with his cousin, George V -- their resemblance is beyond uncanny. I'm still amazed by it! (Don't get me started on the genealogy of the family and how it intertwines with today's British Royal family).

And of course, the whole mystery of did Anastasia survive? This was long enough ago that DNA testing wasn't part of the equation. Long enough ago that Anna Anderson was still alive. (Britain's Prince Philip donated his DNA to put that mystery to rest). Nope, I said I wasn't going there...

We now know that no one survived that horrible, bloody massacre. The Grand Duchesses had sewn jewels into their clothing causing the bullets to ricochet off so they were bayoneted and clubbed to death. Their bodies were then stripped, mutilated, burned and buried in a field.

I can trace the start of my love for Russian history to that day sitting in a South Clay High School history class in Gillette Grove, Iowa.

Here I am 45 years later, commemorating their lives in my own small way, on the 100th anniversary of their deaths.

My fascination with their country continues to this day.

I wonder who chose today, of all days, for the meeting between Trump and Putin.