With the passing of my parents and the last of their siblings, there are stories that will never be known, at least fully, from their perspective as either participants or witnesses. Growing up in the neighborhoods of Los Angeles and Hollywood, some of these stories, ironically, involve the early days of the movie industry--an industry founded on the fabric of stories.

I've heard stories of my father's parents dining at the Sportsmen's Lodge in Studio City. The Sportsmen's Lodge is a rustic yet elegant haunt favored by movie icons of a bygone era. Guests, at one time in the restaurant's own storied past, were invited to catch trout in a stream that flowed through the property; the restaurant's chef would then prepare his guests dinner from their catch. John Wayne and Bette Davis were among the luminaries who regularly bated the hook for their own suppers.

I have in my office a ticket to a popular radio show, "Breakfast in Hollywood," broadcast from Tom Breneman's restaurant on Vine near Sunset in Hollywood. On the morning my father attended the show--the ticket is stamped January 28th, 1948--Bela Lugosi was the featured guest. Lugosi was the actor forever identified with the role of Dracula. Apparently, the world's most renowned Dracula occasionally rose in time for breakfast. Lugosi's initial appearance in the cape was in Universal Studios' classic 1931 production of Bram Stoker's vampire story; his final appearance in the cape was at his own burial. But that's yet another story. The back of my father's ticket is autographed by Lugosi--in ink, in case you have a morbid imagination.

My mother's sister, Aunt Betty, lived much of her life in poverty and--prior to becoming a believer in Jesus--with the wrong men. And we loved her. When she was a young lady she frequently was among the studio audience for cowboy legend Roy Roger's radio show. According to family stories--from the days when fewer walls separated Hollywood from its neighbors--Aunt Betty routinely showed up at Roger's movie studio in the morning, hitched a ride aboard the cast bus, and watched the day's filming amongst the sagebrush on the barren outskirts of Los Angeles. Roy Rogers greeted her by name and with his infectious smile.

Stories. Partial stories. My curiosity wants more. But the voices of the storytellers have grown silent. What stories are uniquely yours and remain to be told to the next generation? Our stories are more than mere tales. They provide context to our lives; they are an invitation to those who come after us, "Come, with me. I have something to share with you."

What stories from your life have yet to be told? For example, reading a preliminary draft of this piece, my wife Kathy declared, "I didn't know you have Bela Lugosi's autograph!" Oops.

What stories might you need to hear ere the voice of the storyteller is stilled?

Get curious. Share your curiosity.