52 Ancestors: Week 4: "A Theory in Progress" - Nanny at the Beach

I don't know if it is so much a theory, really, as it is a "Project in Progress."

In 2023, my paternal grandmother, Clare Henry-Earle, the last of my grandparents, passed away at the age of 94; we all called her Nanny. Two years later, in late 2025, my aunts have put my grandparents’ house on the market.

I believe my grandfather purchased the house shortly after returning from military service in WWII. He was honorably discharged on March 25, 1946. Do the math and that is about 80 years that the house has been in the possession of my family. 

The home, pictured below, was constructed in 1942 but I am not aware of anyone else owning the property between the time of its construction and my grandfather’s purchase. I think the Earles have always owned it.

That yellow sided house on the right? That is where my mother grew up.

Anyway, I tell you all this because the sale of the house came with quite a bit of unloading. When a family sells a house after eight decades, it isn’t just a move, it’s an excavation. Eighty years in one place accumulates a lot of life. During the clean-out, my uncle gave me several of my grandmother’s scrapbooks from her youth. 

Nanny promised me her family photos because of my love for family history, but when I opened the albums, I found something else unexpected. The pages were filled with faces I didn’t recognize, teenagers, mostly. Nanny’s high school friends. Some were labeled. Most were not. Although I wish I had gotten family photos, my first thought looking at these was simple: Someone out there, who knows these people, and would love to have these photos too, just as much as I do. 

So I started with the names I had found noted on the back of a few of the photos.

The first person I searched for was Dotty. 

Here is Dot hoisting my little grandmother up on her shoulder, clearly at the beach, and distinguishably Jones Beach circa 1945.

I found Dotty pretty quickly, alive and well, still on Long Island. Through social media, I connected with her children. Dotty is visually impaired and couldn’t help me identify most of the people in the photos, but she did point me to her younger brother, Ed.

My uncle and I had the great opportunity to sit down with Ed and his family and go through the albums together. As we turned the pages, Ed brought the photos to life, naming faces, sharing stories, and painting a picture of what it was like growing up in Uniondale in the 1940s. At one point, he even mentioned that my grandfather had planned to buy Ed’s childhood home, but circumstances were such that it just didn't pan out.

One person Ed spoke about at length was Billy from Chaminade, a local Catholic high school. Billy became my next mission.

Billy has passed away, but I was able to connect with his family. When I shared a photo, his daughter immediately said, “That’s Uncle Stan.” Uncle Stan wasn’t a biological uncle, but a beloved high school friend of her father’s.

That sent me back to the albums. I searched for more photos of Billy and Stan, and to my delight, there was a duplicate of the image and on the back it was labeled. “Uncle Stan” turned out to be the grandfather of one of my sister’s best friends, Jenny O.

We already knew that Nanny and Stan had gone to high school together. I think we learned that around the time that my sister got married; Jenny was one of my sister's bridesmaids. What I didn’t know was that Nanny and Stan had been part of the same close-knit circle of friends, pictured below.

My grandma is the girl kneeling on the right. Billy is the guy kneeling in the middle. Stan is the guy standing on the left with his arm around the girl on the far left.

Now if only I could find descendants of the others - Gloria Newton, Joan Santa Maria, Claude Arnaud, Joe Willis, Joyce Santa Maria, Ed Peters, and Ed Heinlein. I'm looking for you! Each would have been born in the late 1920s, early 1930s and gone to school in and around Hempstead, NY. 

I know that other people might flip past those faces that aren't "mine" but these aren’t just my grandmother’s lost memories, these were people who at one time mattered deeply to her. Now I feel responsible for these images. I want to share them with the people who would appreciate them. 

Maybe one day I will find each of their families and string them all back together. Maybe we could even gather and recreate the photo at the spot where these teenager's once stood at Jones Beach. I think that would be just as fun as the joy these kids seem to be sharing back in 1945.

52 Ancestors: Week 3: "What This Story Means to Me" - Charles Henry's Clock

In my last post, I mentioned the clock that once belonged to my great-grandfather, Charles Aloysius Henry (March 26, 1896 – June 14, 1949). It came out of his place of employment, John J. Lake & Sons, a paint manufacturer located at 88 Atlantic Avenue in Lynbrook, New York. The clock  has much more than sentimental value, it carries weight of my family history.

Long before this blog ever existed, I had an experience that gave the clock great significance.

A close friend of mine has a sister who is a medium. I’ve written about my experience with Mary once before, and I’ll say upfront: regardless of how you feel about psychics, and believe me, I understand the skepticism, this woman is no joke.

Until I sat down with Mary, I had never had a reading. What she said to me that day was extraordinary. She spoke about things no one outside my family could have possibly known, details that were deeply personal and rooted in my family’s history. And yes, I’m fully aware that nearly everyone who’s impressed by a psychic says the same thing: She told me things no one else could have known. I get how that sounds.

At one point in the reading, though, she paused and broke from the stream of the conversation said, “Who has the clock?”

The clock?

I’m fairly certain I rolled my eyes—maybe not outwardly, but definitely in my head. I remember thinking, Everyone owns a damn clock. Out loud, I said, “I don’t know.”

She looked at me and replied calmly, confidently, “Yes, you do. I can hear it ticking. It's a pendulum clock."

"Oh," I said, "that could be my grandmother's clock."

She said, "But she doesn't have it. Who has the clock?"

"Oh, well, she gave it to my Uncle Allen."

"That should be your clock," Mary said.

I harrumphed. "Yeah, you tell Allen it's my clock."

Then she asked again, "Whose clock was it?"

"Ah, my grandma's."

"No," said Mary. "Whose was it before her?"

"Um, I think it was her father's."

And then she said the most incredible thing. She said, "I smell paint." 

She paused, as if listening to something I couldn’t hear. "Did he make paint?"

Not was he a painter.

Not did he paint.

Did he MAKE paint?

Um, yes, he freakin' made paint.

It wasn’t until after the reading that I asked my grandmother about the clock’s history. Quietly, almost offhandedly, she confirmed it had come out of John J. Lake & Sons, where her father worked making paint.

What has stayed with me wasn’t the shock of the accuracy of what Mary said, it was the feeling that objects, ordinary, unremarkable things, carry presence. Memory. Connection. Instead of a steady, ticking, that clock is a steady reminder that the people who came before us are never all that far away.

Clock from John J. Lake & Sons

Charles A. Henry painting his home in Uniondale.

52 Ancestors: Week 2: "A Life that Added Color" - Charles Aloysius Henry (March 26, 1896 - June 14, 1949)

This week's theme is supposed to be about a record that added color but after last week's post, my cousin Sean asked a few questions about our shared family history that made me think of my great grandpa Charles Aloysius Henry and his life and color. 

15 Fenimore Avenue, East Hempstead, Long Island, New York, was the address where my Henry great grandparents lived. It eventually became 15 Beck Street, Uniondale after the town came through and renamed some streets. There is still a Fennimore Avenue in Uniondale but it isn't the street my grandma grew up on. The Henrys lived on present-day Beck Street. According to my grandmother, that name was chosen because the oldest living person on the street at the time was Mrs. Beck. That change had to have occurred very close to 1950 because I see Mrs. Beck living at 24 Fenimore in the 1940 census but then in the 1950 census she at 24 Beck Street. However, in the 1950 census the Henry's address appears as 15 Fenimore. I now wonder if segments of the street were renamed at certain times. Hmm. I'm not sure but yes, Sean, 15 Beck Street (pictured below) was 15 Fenimore Ave.

My great grandfather Charles Henry built this house from a Sears Roebuck catalog kit. Some people leave behind oil paintings or framed photographs. Others leave clocks on living room walls, sturdy houses, and memories tinged, quite literally, with paint.

Charles Aloysius Henry was born on March 26, 1896, in Richmond Hill, Queens County, New York. He was the eldest child of Victor Henry (June 1874 – June 23, 1908) and Annette Hinch-Henry (February 22, 1868 – March 2, 1952), and from an early age, responsibility found him. Of the six children born into the Henry family, he was one of only three that survived to adulthood. 

• Charles Aloysius Henry (March 26, 1896 – June 14, 1949), my great grandfather
• Mary “Annie” Henry (December 8, 1897 – April 6, 1899)
• Jane Veronica Henry-Edsall (November 14, 1899 – May 19, 1982)
• Victor Henry III (July 10, 1902 – September 15, 1940)
• James Henry (June 24, 1904 – July 16, 1905)
• Robert Henry (February 7, 1906 – February 10, 1906)

Charles Henry circa 1900

Of my great grandparents, I think I look most like Charles.

At three years old, his parents buried his sister Mary "Annie" (she shows up with two names), and when Charles was 9 years-old, they buried two boys. When Charles was just twelve years old, in 1908, his father Victor committed a very scandalous murder-suicide. Overnight, Charles became more than the eldest son, he became the man of the house.  At 44, the family received a disturbing knock at the door at 15 Fenimore from local law enforcement informing them of the drowning of Charles's 38 year-old brother, Victor.

Anna and Charles in front of 15 Fenimore Ave, East Hempstead, winter 1944

During World War I, Charles served in the U.S. Army, and was stationed at Camp Gordon in Georgia. He never saw combat overseas. After the war, he returned to Queens and married Anna Marie Sauer (July 19, 1899 - May 8, 1986) on June 6, 1921 at the Gate of Heaven Roman Catholic Church in Ozone Park, Queens. Together, they began what would become a lively, busy household filled with six children, projects, and plans. A family of his own came with the need for stability and a place to put it all. In about 1945 he ordered the Sears catalog house pictured above, a prefabricated home that was shipped by railroad and then assembled by the buyer. 15 Fenimore was solid and practical, much like the man who raised it.

Richard Henry and Charles Henry in front of 15 Fenimore, Winter 1944

Anna Sauer-Henry fetching the mail. A clear shot of the house in the background, Winter 1944

You wouldn't know it today but property was large enough to support a small farm. There were vegetables, livestock, and, most memorably, goats and rabbits. Charles became president of both a goat club and a rabbit club, local organizations dedicated to self-sufficiency and health. Goat’s milk, the family believed, was superior to cow’s milk. Here is a photograph of my grandma Clare and her sister Jean grinning proudly as they hold the baby goats. 

Clare Henry-Earle and Regina "Jean" Henry-Drew with kids.

Professionally, Charles was a paint manufacturer. He rose to the rank of manager at John J. Lake & Sons, a company whose products quite literally coated the surfaces of everyday life. Paint is an odd thing when you think about it, it preserves, protects, and hides flaws. It seals wood against rot, brightens dull spaces, and gives old structures new life. The John J. Lake & Sons Company clock hung in my grandmother’s living room for decades, ticking away the hours long after Charles himself was gone. That clock still exists. It was passed down to my Uncle Allen, and is promised to be mine some day. I see it as a quiet relic of a man who spent his life making things endure.

WWII Draft Registration Card for Charles Henry, April 26, 1942

There is a cruel irony in the way Charles’s life ended. On June 14,1949, at just 53 years old, Charles died of peritoneal cancer, a rare cancer of the abdominal lining. His family believed the illness was linked to prolonged exposure to industrial paint chemicals at his job. The very materials that supported his family may have shortened his life. Charles died only months before the birth my father, his 5th grandchild.

He was buried in Holy Rood Cemetery in Westbury, New York; his work done, but his house still standing and his clock still ticking.

52 Ancestors: Week 1: "An Ancestor I Admire" - Annette "Annie" Hinch-Henry (February 22, 1868 - March 2, 1952)

I tried to do the 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks Challenge last year but the days got away from me. Instead I turned my attention to writing a series of essays on each of my direct ancestors back to, and including, my great-great grandparents. I then compiled those essays into a book to someday give to my nieces and nephew. 

I noticed that the further I went back in time the shorter the essays got. I didn't really have stories about my great-great grandparents as individuals, as opposed to my parents and grandparents who I knew and experienced things with in my life. 

So when I think about my ancestors and whom I admire most, I wonder what I really know about most of them. Do records really tell us much about a person's character? How much do  those documents really tell us about a person’s inner life, or the way they endured the events that shaped them?

That being said though, I have always thought my great-great grandmother's life story would make for a great movie, though. I've written about her before. I think Julia Roberts could play her in the movie. See the resemblance?

Annette "Annie" Hinch-Henry was born in Barnamelia, Ireland near Hackettstown, kind of close to where County Wicklow touches County Carlow.  She was born on February 22, 1868 to James Hinch (about 1816- January 29, 1886) and Jane Kavanaugh-Hinch (unknown - about 1875 in Ireland). 

James and Jane had six children: 

•     Jane Hinch (about 1859 –  unknown)
•     Hannah Hinch-Nugent (December 25,1859 – July 7, 1925)
•     Mary Hinch-Kehoe (May 10, 1864 – June 17, 1947)
•     Annette "Annie" Hinch-Henry (February 22, 1868 – March 2, 1952)
•     James Hinch (July 1, 1870 – about 1884)
•     Sarah Bridget Hinch-Stoothoff-Rhodes (June 25, 1873 – January 4, 1965).  

The Hinch family knew loss. Annie’s mother appears to have died around 1875, leaving those six children behind. Annie’s brother James, would never reach adulthood. Family lore said that young James drowned in a river. I didn't question it, but when my cousin Pete and I visited the National Archives in Dublin in 2018, the records told a much sadder story. The only death that fit was for a thirteen-year-old boy named James Hinch who didn't drown in a river but rather died in a workhouse from diphtheria on September 27, 1884. I think that is him but I am only confident that Annie left Ireland having already buried her mother and a brother.

Shortly after that boy's death, Annie’s moved across the sea. There is a passenger list that may record her arrival in New York on June 6, 1885, traveling with her father, James, and her younger sister Sarah aboard the HMS City of Chester into the Port of New York at Castle Garden. Their surname is indexed as “Hench,” and the only sibling listed is Sarah, not Annie’s older sisters, Jane and Hannah, which makes me a bit uncertain that this is them. Still, if it is them, Annie would have been seventeen when she stepped onto American soil at Castle Garden and sadly, only a few month later her father died on January 29, 1886. James Hinch is buried in St. Monica’s Cemetery in Jamaica, Queens, beside his brother Charles Hinch (about 1817 - January 24, 1895). Annie was not yet 18 years old when she buried her other parent.

Annie was 27 when she married Victor Henry II (June 1874 – June 23, 1908) on June 18, 1895 in New York. They had six children in their 13 years long marriage: 

• Charles Aloysius Henry (March 26, 1896 – June 14, 1949), my great grandfather
• Mary “Annie” Henry (December 8, 1897 – April 6, 1899)
• Jane Veronica Henry-Edsall (November 14, 1899 – May 19, 1982)
• Victor Henry III (July 10, 1902 – September 15, 1940)
• James Henry (June 24, 1904 – July 16, 1905)
• Robert Henry (February 7, 1906 – February 10, 1906)

Only three of their children lived to adulthood, Mary died as a toddler and their two youngest sons died in infancy.

Then on June 23, 1908, Annie's life shattered publicly when her husband Victor committed a very scandalous murder-suicide involving Annie’s first cousin, Mary Hinch-Cassidy (March 1862 – June 23, 1908). The details are complicated, painful, and deeply entwined branches of the Hinch and Henry families. Annie was left a widow with young children, carrying a grief that was both intense and very publicly shameful and yet, she endured.

After everything she had lost, Annie continued to give. While her children were still young, Annie took in orphans. I recall my great uncle Bobby, Annie’s grandson, speaking about one orphan in particular; Eddie Reed (August 12, 1921 – December 7, 1937) who appears in the 1930 census in Annie’s house. Eddie died while in Annie’s care and the loss just devastated her. Apparently, she had taken Eddie to the doctor complaining of abdominal pains. They performed an appendectomy on November 19, 1937. He continued to complain of pain afterwards but the doctor didn’t believe Eddie, they thought he was faking his pain to avoid school. Days later on December 7, 1937 Eddie died at Jamaica Hospital. He was just 16.

I found Edward Reed’s death certificate at the New York City Municipal Archives; Queens Death Certificate, 1937, document #8434. His mother’s name may have been Catherine Reed; his father is unknown. Anna Henry is listed as his guardian and she is buried with him at St. John Cemetery in Middle Village, Queens, New York.

I suspect that Annie received a good deal of support from her family following the death of Victor; if not financially, at least emotionally. I had heard one story in which she had to put her children into an orphanage but fought to have them returned to her when she learned they weren't being fed well. I know her sons and daughter cared deeply for their mother in her later years as well, opening their homes to her again and again. In fact, in the 1950 U.S. Federal Census, Annie was living with her then recently widowed daughter-in-law, my great grandmother, Anna Marie Sauer-Henry (July 19, 1899 – May 8, 1986) in Uniondale, Long Island, New York at 15 Fenimore Avenue; the house my grandmother grew up in. When Annie passed on March 2, 1952, though, she was living with her daughter Jane in Pearl River, New Jersey.

I don't know her voice or her laugh. Did she laugh? She must have laughed. I don't know what else could have sustained her through so much loss, but I know she crossed an ocean; buried her parents, siblings, five of her six children, and her husband; she survived scandal; opened her home to foundlings with nowhere else to go; and was remembered with love by the people who did know her. For someone I never met, I admire her a great deal for her perseverance.