tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4219443838667977532024-03-14T02:18:17.606-04:00Digging up the Dirt on my Dead PeopleAprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391173177253541435noreply@blogger.comBlogger341125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-421944383866797753.post-72947764580931453122024-02-22T09:06:00.004-05:002024-02-24T14:35:03.577-05:00Two Uncles, Same Homeroom<p>The title of the post reveals a lot really, no surprise coming. When I discovered it though, my mind was blown.</p><p>I received an Ancestry hint for a "V. Prastaro", my uncle. He was married and subsequently divorced from my maternal aunt. Sadly, both are passed but Uncle Vinny remains in my family tree of course. His wedding to my aunt was the first I ever remember attending. I was little. I think it was the summer before I started kindergarten, so maybe I was 5.</p><p>I followed the Ancestry hint to a yearbook photo and sure enough, there he was - Uncle Vinny in 1975 before he was my uncle. </p><p>While examining the photo though I saw the name "J. Puppelo". Wait a second. That is my step-mother's brother! Another uncle by marriage pictured long before he was my uncle. Uncle Joe has also passed.<br></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiypuSg5uSCxOxl3HVOm6XZAbiEhGM7A-C85UFYOxPFxvbmzhIFXycKpGpagUsIZfas62kIS9GwK0g2VyQ6bfadTQnryp9jLIYjzcpUsHDns7FjA9m2oBXKgLKJR_diPxS-nFpaOC4E3cO04P0UDr0hDkTRxxpgM2xSdyaDQxrX4DCHBQu8eTBcYja5cACr/s1482/yearbook.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="624" data-original-width="1482" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiypuSg5uSCxOxl3HVOm6XZAbiEhGM7A-C85UFYOxPFxvbmzhIFXycKpGpagUsIZfas62kIS9GwK0g2VyQ6bfadTQnryp9jLIYjzcpUsHDns7FjA9m2oBXKgLKJR_diPxS-nFpaOC4E3cO04P0UDr0hDkTRxxpgM2xSdyaDQxrX4DCHBQu8eTBcYja5cACr/w640-h270/yearbook.jpg" width="640"></a> <br></p><p>It was such a surprise to see them there together in the same yearbook. I had never really given it a thought but they were about the same age and lived in the same town. And yet there they are!!<br></p>Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391173177253541435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-421944383866797753.post-85143439895321986172024-02-22T07:35:00.002-05:002024-02-22T08:09:31.482-05:00But Where in Ireland? Answer Buried in Records<p><span style="font-family: arial;">In 2018 I traveled to Belgium to attend a friend's wedding. Afterwards, my cousin Peter and I spend 10 days driving around Ireland and Northern Ireland. Peter and I share Irish ancestors but we also have Irish ancestors on other branches of our separate family trees.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I loved Ireland. I especially loved the natural beauty of Northern Ireland. Being there did somehow make me feel closer to my Irish ancestors even though, like many Americans with Irish ancestry, I don't know exactly where most of my Irish ancestors were from. Once most immigrants arrived in the U.S. they didn't identify themselves by the town they came from, just the country.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">On my paternal grandmother's side I know my great-great grandmother, Annette Hinch-Henry came from Barnamelia and Hackettstown, in County Wicklow. Also on dad's side, I know my Hughes came from Liscolman, Clonmore, again, in County Wicklow and my Grays came from County Cavan. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">My mom's side is more elusive and they suffer from very common Irish surnames; Joyce, Kelley, O'Neill, and Fay. Their U.S. records just record their place of birth as Ireland. No towns, no counties, just Ireland. Even if I may not have been in my ancestors' exact footsteps, I felt very at home in Ireland.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Years later, in 2021, suffering from the wanderlust caused by the Covid-19 world health crisis, I set about visiting the graves of my direct ancestors in this sort of cemetery marathon on which I dragged my cousin Peter. Actually for one cemetery visit I dragged both Cousin Peter and Cousin Ashlee all the way to Dayton, Ohio. I wrote about that adventure in this blog post: <a href="https://diggingupthedirtonmydeadpeople.blogspot.com/2021/06/third-great-grandpa-john-joyce-dayton.html " target="_blank">https://diggingupthedirtonmydeadpeople.blogspot.com/2021/06/third-great-grandpa-john-joyce-dayton.html </a></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Prior to that visit to the grave of my third great grandfather, John A. Joyce, I ordered his military pension file from the National Archives and Records Administration (NARA) in Washington D.C. In fact, I ordered the file on April 22, 2021. I made that trip to Dayton in June 2021. In November 2021 I finally received John's file; a 89 page pdf related to his military service as a First Class Boy in the U.S. Navy during the Mexican-American War. It took more than 6 months to obtain the file.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Now if you are like me, you don't know much about the Mexican-American War; but you see that word Navy and you feel all queasy - sea sickness sets in, right? It does for me. I have so many seafaring souls in my gene pool but any body of water makes me a little green. Ugh, I can't with the boats, people!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Anyway, John was in the Navy. He enlisted January 19, 1846. 1846!! His whole military service was a surprise to me really but I did not expect him to be in the U.S. before the potato famine.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Ireland suffered the famine between 1845 and 1852. It was a period of starvation, disease, death, and immense emigration. The poor were leaving Ireland in droves for America where they had the hope of not starving to death. Often Americans refer to their Irish immigrants who came during that period as Famine Irish. John enlisting in U.S. Navy in January 1846, that was pretty early on in the Great Famine, so it's likely my Joyces were pre-Famine Irish immigrants; that they arrived in the U.S. before 1845. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Another great surprise is that John enlisted in the Navy in Philadelphia, PA. Philadelphia! My people are all New Yorkers. Philadelphia? Really? So this has put me on the path of searching for John, and perhaps his parents, yet unknown to me, immigrating through Philadelphia rather than New York. We'll see if I can find anything now that I have that lead.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The most amazing discovery in John's pension file, though, was the name of the county in Ireland where he was born. Yup! On page 24 of the 89 page pdf, at the bottom of the page it states "...born at ___, in the County of Armath, and State of Ireland..." Now Armath has to be County Armagh because there is no Armath. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">County Armagh is one of the six counties of Northern Ireland and one of the traditional thirty-two counties of Ireland. I don't think Peter and I drove through Armagh though. The closest we would have gotten would probably have been Banbridge on route between Belfast and Dublin. Guess I gotta go back!</span></p><p><br /></p>Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391173177253541435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-421944383866797753.post-61509806795731729982024-02-19T14:22:00.002-05:002024-02-19T14:22:21.913-05:00Lots of Family Happenings<p><span style="font-family: arial;">As much as use this blog to share my family history, research methods, and genealogical resources, I also use it as a kind of journal for myself, a journal of family happenings. I just haven't felt up to writing lately.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">In November we lost my paternal grandmother to Alzheimer's Disease. She was 94. Her birthday is approaching which is probably what is prompting me to catch up with writing. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The day after we buried my grandma, my sister gave birth to my first nephew. He was born early and still now at 3 months is so little. Healthy, but tiny. You forget how little those newborn bodies are.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Last month, in January, I traveled to the Philippines with Cousin Kelly and Cousin Pete to celebrate the wedding of Kelly's nephew. It was the first opportunity for Kelly to meet her half-sister in person that we only just discovered existed about 2 1/2 years ago.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">So today I share some photos:</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheldW0lX20rHDRwaGvST1ET34Ci-0-irbnbHPv3RDwm-tkLsfco2C7ngdUzAFCgmioq_cZMiSIqY4wEcqIQexb-6J_08LyLFL6rGpJA3JTzMRXD5_yHcA6ef1VjZTDW5w_7OoMsOWuOik_D_E4ydTOp_tUBws1z3f6gAmjVOI2FfcjDsNSnW0t6AvunV3n/s4080/PXL_20231224_220719885.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="4080" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheldW0lX20rHDRwaGvST1ET34Ci-0-irbnbHPv3RDwm-tkLsfco2C7ngdUzAFCgmioq_cZMiSIqY4wEcqIQexb-6J_08LyLFL6rGpJA3JTzMRXD5_yHcA6ef1VjZTDW5w_7OoMsOWuOik_D_E4ydTOp_tUBws1z3f6gAmjVOI2FfcjDsNSnW0t6AvunV3n/s320/PXL_20231224_220719885.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkaoCu3-5ULBY4s6j3t3uzmfROR2_IS-HZU-dRl4r4OcVeH5DYlhHtwFEHARRcoasmonNnFEa6Za6ecSVb1rDJAJGEl8qcM4Z-H9U5yHPQBpZm-uV8sngqJYnUV6CSW-6JV4n_KoxyimWBBrqoXGq44rWw5pzCiqOnGL0pPheum8ScZbdP0DlJdQEpOzwi/s3280/PXL_20231022_224905432.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3280" data-original-width="2464" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkaoCu3-5ULBY4s6j3t3uzmfROR2_IS-HZU-dRl4r4OcVeH5DYlhHtwFEHARRcoasmonNnFEa6Za6ecSVb1rDJAJGEl8qcM4Z-H9U5yHPQBpZm-uV8sngqJYnUV6CSW-6JV4n_KoxyimWBBrqoXGq44rWw5pzCiqOnGL0pPheum8ScZbdP0DlJdQEpOzwi/s320/PXL_20231022_224905432.jpg" width="240" /></a></div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtW2ht7w4mWHDpHTmF4cPY0jLsOgaOiE2BIAWS9DX4vLnOgkMj6DBB_hbqc2R61ypiRYVtETyfJydAwyDmQofMwcYeGG5W-x7wT-ewSJB4Cnvtw51q8fVsy9GUJ5cR8cYgClFguGzBCWWX_XzsynnFm6nJvYXlTh6K4lazvtBIgpuy1YbYzwYAwXoPboQ5/s1080/FB_IMG_1705279145062.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtW2ht7w4mWHDpHTmF4cPY0jLsOgaOiE2BIAWS9DX4vLnOgkMj6DBB_hbqc2R61ypiRYVtETyfJydAwyDmQofMwcYeGG5W-x7wT-ewSJB4Cnvtw51q8fVsy9GUJ5cR8cYgClFguGzBCWWX_XzsynnFm6nJvYXlTh6K4lazvtBIgpuy1YbYzwYAwXoPboQ5/s320/FB_IMG_1705279145062.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjHSUTBHLNMtkKV_IhdFisxys35-YGEUg1jvgQRQCMq-kyC-bB6C-JsdHoHOxvHA6_p16w9LGAPoSyvh1qTLbr3KkdInXuBhDYGHTdey8D9JWHm5NYF2jkHPDg4C88lESPk94Lzg0KWx8OfQXqWX7LrVZ9CIBs_GUBsyRvqRkSTSguLHRN6luSph25hBqy/s1080/FB_IMG_1705984999009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjHSUTBHLNMtkKV_IhdFisxys35-YGEUg1jvgQRQCMq-kyC-bB6C-JsdHoHOxvHA6_p16w9LGAPoSyvh1qTLbr3KkdInXuBhDYGHTdey8D9JWHm5NYF2jkHPDg4C88lESPk94Lzg0KWx8OfQXqWX7LrVZ9CIBs_GUBsyRvqRkSTSguLHRN6luSph25hBqy/s320/FB_IMG_1705984999009.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391173177253541435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-421944383866797753.post-10164615851312083612023-12-01T08:37:00.000-05:002023-12-01T08:37:15.171-05:00My Troublemakers in the Catholic Protectory Records<p><span style="font-family: arial;">The one of the few Anglicized names among my direct ancestors is that of my maternal grandfather's family, the Desjardins. They changed their surname to Gardner. Yeah, not close in spelling at all but the translation of the French name, Desjardins, means "from the gardens." Likely that means that somewhere back in time I descend from some Frenchman with a green thumb. I didn't get that gene.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">My great-great grandfather, Damas Desjardins, came to the United States from Montreal, Quebec, Canada in the early 1880s. I don't have any information about his immigration but according to my great-great grandmother's naturalization papers, the couple married on May 14, 1884 in New York City, so Damas was in New York before then.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">His obituary was published in the <i>Patchogue Advance</i> in October of 1911, and it is one of my favorite pieces of genealogical documentation that I have found to date because it documents this otherwise unofficial surname change. It states that "Mr. Desjardins was known to his friends here by the name of Gardiner, an Anglicization of his French family name." That is the evidence I have to back up my grandfather's statement that the surname was changed. There seems to be no official documentation of a legal name change for them which, based on the time period is not surprising. Names could be pretty fluid back before Social Security. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">My great grandpa, Damas's son, was born Almond Desjardins in Long Island City, Queens County, New York on September 21, 1891. He died on February 11, 1946 in the same county but by that time was known as Albert Gardner. Delving into the life of Almond/Albert, I came to learn that he had many brushes with the law in his youth. In the articles dating from 1906 & 1907, he is identified by multiple names and spellings; A. Gardner, Almond Gardener, and Almond Gardner.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">One such article appeared on November 8, 1907 in the <i>Brooklyn Daily Eagle</i>, titled "Patchogue Lad in Trouble. He is Charged with Stealing Brass from Vacant Houses in L.I. City." It reads as follows:</span></p><blockquote style="border: medium; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Almond Gardener, 16 years old of Patchogue L.I. was arrested by the Long Island City police last night, and in back of his arrest is an interesting story.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Young Gardener comes of a good family. He has an industrious brother living in Long Island City, and when he left Patchogue several days ago, he took up his residence with that brother. On Wednesday night two unoccupied frame houses, 86 and 88 Main street, Long Island City were broken into and damage done to the extent of $200. The damage was due to the desire of the marauders to get possession of certain pieces of brass in the plumbing work.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Unfortunately for the guilty parties, their first visit to the buildings resulted so successfully that they returned last night, and one of them was caught. The prisoner described himself as Almond Gardener of Patchogue. As Detectives Hufman and Ebbers of the Astoria Precinct have discovered where the brass pieces were sold for 55 cents, they expect to arrest Gardener's companion.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The police say that about a year ago Gardener and another boy named James Kidney were found sleeping in buildings near the rug works in Astoria. They were arrested and committed to the Catholic Protectory. Mrs. Gardener finally got her boy out of the institution and also succeeded in having his companion released. The Gardener family had resided in Astoria but moved to Patchogue before the boys were let out. They were taken to Patchogue from the Protectory, but after behaving themselves for about four months, the pair cut loose. Kidney was the first one to incur the displeasure of Mrs. Gardener and he was sent away. In three weeks young Gardener packed up his grip and started out to find a place with more life and go in it, and now he awaits the action of the courts.</span></p></blockquote><p><span style="font-family: arial;">"Hmm," I wondered, "What is this Catholic Protectory that Al and his friend were sent to?"</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Another article from November 8, 1907, appeared in <i>The Brooklyn Daily Star</i>, and went into a little more detail:</span></p><blockquote style="border: medium; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Gardner Fell From Grace</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Patchogue was too Slow so he came back to L.I. City</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">And got into trouble again - charged with burglary in Astoria</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Tale of a big-Hearted Mother who tried to reform two bad boys and what came of her efforts</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">About thirty cents in cash and the prospect of a term in some penal institution is the reward Almond Gardner gets for taking the leading part in a burglary in Astoria on Wednesday night that resulted in theft of over $35 worth of lead pipe and plumbing fixtures and damage to the building which $100 will not pay for.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Gardner is the lad who was sent away to the Catholic Protectory in Manhattan about a year ago because he and another boy, James Kidney, persisted in sleeping out night in the stables and outhouses, rather than stay in the soft, warm beds that their homes provided.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Gardner comes [...illegible...] the good influence of a comfortable home, and seems to prefer the excitement of the under-world to obeying his parents.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">After he had been in the Protectory for a few months, his folks moved from Astoria to Patchogue, and his mother, thinking that life in a country village would offer fewer temptations to evil doing, managed to ensure his release from the institution.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Took Both Boys Home</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">When she went over to Manhattan to get her boy, her attention was attracted to young Kidney, who looked pale and emaciated as the result of his confinement. Her mother's heart was touched and she begged to be allowed to take Kidney home with her too. Kidney has no mother having been living with an aunt.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">She took both boys with her to Patchogue and set to work to reform them. Kidney lasted about four months before he fell from grace. He could not stain the strain any longer, so he stole from his benefactor and fled out into the alluring world.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Gardner Lasted Longer</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Gardner clung to the paths of rectitude with commendable tenacity up to about three weeks ago. Then he begged to be allowed to come to Long Island City to visit his brother who lives on Eighth street. Once here he became fascinated with the old life again, and began to consort with evil companions.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The climax came when he and another boy, who has not yet been arrested, tore boards off one of the rear windows of the houses at 86 and 88 Main street and forced an entrance. They tipped out all the lead pipe they could carry and took away six sewer traps. This stuff they sold to a junk dealer for fifty-five cents. It cost new about $25. A plumber will probably charge over $100 to repair the damage.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Not content with this escapade, the boys came back later on to get more loot but they were frightened away. Detectives Hufman and Ebers were put on their trail with the result that Gardner was caught Thursday evening.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">He readily confessed to the part he played in the burglary and said that it was no use for him to try to be good, anyway. He was arraigned in the Fifth street police court this Friday and held for the Grand Jury at $1000 bail.</span></p></blockquote><p><span style="font-family: arial;">This mention of the Catholic Protectory prompted me to go looking for more information about that institution. The New York City Catholic Protectory was an orphanage / juvenile delinquency program run by the Catholic Church in an effort to instill morality and ethics in children. They took in children who were under the age of 14 years, either with the consent of their parents or guardians for the well-being of the children because of the families' financial situation, or the child was committed to the institution by order of a New York City magistrate due to truancy, vagrancy, or homeless.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">A few years ago, I uncovered records available in FamilySearch.org titled <i>Residents' Identification Cards, ca. 1880-1938</i>. The record set was authored by The Society for the Protection of Destitute Roman Catholic Children of New York City. Lot of words to remember. However, it is indeed the records for what was the New York City Catholic Protectory. At one time, it was also known as The Lincoln Hall School in Lincolndale, New York. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">In addition to being tricky title to find in the FamilySearch Card Catalog, it is also un-indexed dataset; meaning you can't search it, you have to browse through it image by image. The images are relatively well organized alphabetically by the child's surname but as I described above, Great Grandpa had some issues with his surname. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The first time I went looking for him in the record set I did not find him. I thought maybe he was under a different last name. Essentially I gave up. Earlier this year, I decided to take another look. Actually, I went looking for his friend James Kidney first. I hadn't looked for him before. I figured if I could find James in there, Al had to be in there. And sure enough - - - there on Film #1851431 (Fucelli, Mario - Gargano, Louis) - Image Group #7856562 - Images #2862 & 2863 out of the 2916 images of that digitized real of microfilm is my great grandfather listed as Almand Gardner.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1ieiQERShFRC2T4DZPh-oCtPalo_5mZzxuRvCXeQ30CD8ozYMQoMWxvBJ4bVowMx0ofNKOQTuHIuiJib6EfBwJle46F8kBb5qYvRmbXVj8_7O9bqJAL_N4kUuU0YyqDIxJFybUKsB64SITrPVZGAGL13y2hPyY9ALPopfYRm6v4nfYN-oIjvY9fytUA/s1537/albert%20Gardner%20.jpg" style="font-family: arial; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1076" data-original-width="1537" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1ieiQERShFRC2T4DZPh-oCtPalo_5mZzxuRvCXeQ30CD8ozYMQoMWxvBJ4bVowMx0ofNKOQTuHIuiJib6EfBwJle46F8kBb5qYvRmbXVj8_7O9bqJAL_N4kUuU0YyqDIxJFybUKsB64SITrPVZGAGL13y2hPyY9ALPopfYRm6v4nfYN-oIjvY9fytUA/w640-h448/albert%20Gardner%20.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg45ePsZJTLP81AhAV8_Hik-dk4k-PRxMCkmlwTgP0DLP8wOzHcna6gnQvF5kA2kLkOjAxFVb43_lD705UcC1i9bWgMSZD8KYB08fBMljnlfV8xIKFeV7m6Qi6_-T24mJrPTys2SnJgjoBCFGzZ23yCewIer4WEuKiz8hxZcNTnTU6PG5kAWHSogBaC_w/s1512/albert%20Gardner%202.jpg" style="font-family: arial; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1058" data-original-width="1512" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg45ePsZJTLP81AhAV8_Hik-dk4k-PRxMCkmlwTgP0DLP8wOzHcna6gnQvF5kA2kLkOjAxFVb43_lD705UcC1i9bWgMSZD8KYB08fBMljnlfV8xIKFeV7m6Qi6_-T24mJrPTys2SnJgjoBCFGzZ23yCewIer4WEuKiz8hxZcNTnTU6PG5kAWHSogBaC_w/w640-h448/albert%20Gardner%202.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p><span style="font-family: arial;">"Ungovernable." That seems right. Might be genetic but I digress...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Some children's files are, of course, much larger and reveal much more detail about them and their family's circumstances. The interesting note for me is that is the April 8, 1907 note that states "Sent on trial to friend, Miss Emily Gardner, Patchogue, L.I." The same note is on James Kidney's card. Now Al's mother's name was Malvina, not Emily. Even his card shows his mother as Alvina - close. I don't know who Emily Gardner is. Perhaps it's just a human error or maybe it was Al's oldest sister, Emma. Although, the articles do say the boys were released to Al's mother. Hmm. With every answer comes more questions.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Ungovernable. Ha. Love that. <br /></span></p><p><br /></p>Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391173177253541435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-421944383866797753.post-82430701710917525252023-11-02T12:19:00.001-04:002023-11-02T12:19:05.293-04:00My Young Cousin Takes an Interest in Family History<p><span style="font-family: arial;">October was Family History and this year it started out in an awesome way. On September 30, my Cousin Lisa messaged me a photo of her oldest son, age 12, reading a family history book that I made for him when he was born. It's a series of brief biographies about our shared branch of his family tree. When a 12 year-old takes an interest in family history, anything really, you have to strike when the iron is hot and so a few days later he and I had a video chat about the family's history.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOxQMeZAMSCfyJvvk61-HUJc5SldWhNzhXR5sttr0Akj4IKACvUEfmqscmtPvuXZQOGtngHbwJ5HWBKGZ4glTvDrwZ_dkPrlTmsKFiJ37m77iPXIRThFP51xkGQFdNZwZ7dym2ADt75sDaGnxsfh8dVIoyHkpqIiF59cmHQSQN91JLn1Y3npvaXyFP-0Pr/s2000/received_633448448873622.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="1126" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOxQMeZAMSCfyJvvk61-HUJc5SldWhNzhXR5sttr0Akj4IKACvUEfmqscmtPvuXZQOGtngHbwJ5HWBKGZ4glTvDrwZ_dkPrlTmsKFiJ37m77iPXIRThFP51xkGQFdNZwZ7dym2ADt75sDaGnxsfh8dVIoyHkpqIiF59cmHQSQN91JLn1Y3npvaXyFP-0Pr/w360-h640/received_633448448873622.jpeg" width="360" /></span></a></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">He seemed especially interested about my grandpa, his great grandpa. Oh I could tell him stories. I used to spend a month every summer with my grandpa at his home in Florida when I was in my teens.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">My young cousin also expressed interest in looking at the old documents. Oooh, I've got them too.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I am now in the process of writing up a few more profiles on a handful of our ancestors. I have learned a lot more in the last 12 years and have collected a great deal of documents since then. Thus far, I have sent him one package including an updated biography on my great grandmother, his great-great, Mayme Sharp-Gardner (October 2, 1891 - January 25, 1961). </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I am presently writing about her paternal grandmother's line, the Moores of St. Felix-de-Kingsey, Quebec by way of Londonderry, New Hampshire of Scottish extraction. They are an interesting lot - the had family members who were Early American settlers, who served in the American Revolution (at the surrender of Burgoyne), as well as some who perished in the Glencoe Massacre in Glencoe, Scotland in 1692.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I also encouraged my young cousin to sit down with his paternal grandma and work on building his dad's family tree. I didn't want to say it like this but... grandparents don't last forever. You need to talk to your elder family member while you can. As far as I can tell, his paternal grandma's family stretches back a long way in the area that he presently lives in. I know what that is like; I live a stone's throw from where my father's family settled nearly 400 years ago. Their history is right around you. Perhaps my young cousin and his grandma could even visit a few local cemeteries where his ancestors are buried. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Again, once their interest is piqued, you have to strike while the iron is hot. I'm excited!! I have more info headed his way this month.<br /></span></p><p></p>Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391173177253541435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-421944383866797753.post-15377306865001740912023-09-29T09:02:00.000-04:002023-09-29T09:02:41.309-04:00October - Way Beyond Life Expectancy<p><span style="font-family: arial;">According to data found on Statista, a leading provider of market and consumer data, life expectancy in the United States has doubled since the 1860s. In 1860, life expectancy was 39.4 years, by 2020 it had risen to 78.9 years. In Canada, where my Walker ancestors lived, life expectancy in 1860 was slightly higher than in the U.S., 41.4 years. By 2020, Canadian life expectancy has also nearly doubled to 82.2 years. Canadians generally live longer. Nowadays we might notch that up to better healthcare, better diet, better food-safety standards, lower pollution, less stressful life-styles, who knows for sure. What we do know is Canadians generally live longer. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">My 5th great grandmother, Elizabeth Thompson-Walker, who lived in Barnston, Stanstead, Quebec, Canada for her adult life, lived well beyond even today's life expectancy. She was born in Scotland or Ireland in about 1761. She died on August 27, 1864. I'll give you a minute to do the math.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Yeah, 1864-1761 = 103 years old at the time of her death. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Since I cannot find documentation of her birth I suppose her age at death is disputable. However, the documentation of her death in the Drouin Collection, the most notable collection of Canadian Vital and Church Records for Eastern Canada from 1621 to 1968, shows her age as 103; so I'm going with it.<br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI8x0JeKqLaEF80I4Kder3MPeZ4BY9flaFooh7wxacbX9rnz307f2HkboT97wGPQ84Qc14MBgY5b8v8GPlLx--G5NLb_lgs42gaRayFwjBtfyn9ZU95IKVKXg9iI6zapb8q00c_Z_cpoq7xCqoq4Mmr3TozeSw1x-2efD-2022kZAXUPsnTX6asDnFtA/s806/Walker_Elizabeth_1864.jpg" style="font-family: arial; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="806" data-original-width="592" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI8x0JeKqLaEF80I4Kder3MPeZ4BY9flaFooh7wxacbX9rnz307f2HkboT97wGPQ84Qc14MBgY5b8v8GPlLx--G5NLb_lgs42gaRayFwjBtfyn9ZU95IKVKXg9iI6zapb8q00c_Z_cpoq7xCqoq4Mmr3TozeSw1x-2efD-2022kZAXUPsnTX6asDnFtA/w470-h640/Walker_Elizabeth_1864.jpg" width="470" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p>Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391173177253541435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-421944383866797753.post-63871453804692907042023-09-05T15:31:00.000-04:002023-09-05T15:31:57.801-04:00Great-great Uncle Hector Desjardins, a Resident of The Craig Colony for Epileptics<p><span style="font-family: arial;">Sometime in the late 1980s, I interviewed my maternal grandfather about his ancestry. He was kind of tight-lipped about his family history. Thus, I didn't really dig into his line of my family tree until after he passed away in 2004 but then s</span><span style="font-family: arial;">ome of the details from that conversation return to me whenever I uncover a new family document. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">One detail that floats back to me from time to time is my grandfather mentioning that he had an uncle who was epileptic. Now back in the day, epilepsy had a real social stigma; people thought those seizures were caused by possession by the Devil. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Grandpa didn't recall his uncle's name when we spoke but years later, I came across a 1910 U.S. Federal Census record for a Hector Desjardins, a resident at The Craig Colony for Epileptics in Sonyea, Livingston County, New York. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">I was pretty convinced that this was my grandfather's uncle but it was not, until recently, that I ordered Hector's death record from Groveland, NY. With the record in hand, I know this for sure this was grandpa's uncle even though it lacks a mother or father's name on the certificate. I know it's the uncle because the death certificate</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> states that both parents were born in Canada but that Hector was born in New York City. True! True! And true! </span><span style="font-family: arial;">But the big give away is that this Hector Des Gardner, another variant spelling of the surname Desjardins which was eventually anglicized to Gardner, was buried in Patchogue, NY. That is where his parents are buried. The family plot has a small foot-stone that reads simply H.D. That's gotta be Hector.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Hector was 30 years old at the time of his death from ileus colitis and b</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: arial;">ronchopneumonia. The contributory cause of death is listed as epilepsy. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: arial;">According to the death certificate, Hector had been a resident of the Craig Colony for Epileptics for 11 years, 6 months, and 16 days. That places his arrival at the Colony as February 12, 1906. Hector would have been about 19 years old. I don't have an exact day of birth for him; I know it was November in either 1885 or 1886. The death record say 1886.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: arial;">The doctor who signed his death certificate on August 31, 1917 was Dr. G. Kirby Collier of </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Sonyea, NY. The "G." stood for George. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Dr. Collier was an</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> influential physician in the history of Alcoholics Anonymous. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">In his obituary, special to the <i>New York Times</i>, which appeared on June 19, 1954 and reads as follows:</span></p><blockquote style="border: medium; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Rochester, N. Y., June 19 - Dr. G. Kirby Collier, researcher in alcoholism and one of the early specialists in neuropsychiatry, died here yesterday in his home here at the age of 75.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Born in Wilmington, N.C., Dr. Collier was graduated from the University of Maryland in 1900. In 1902 he joined the staff of Craig Colony for Epileptics at Sonyea, N. Y. He came to Rochester in 1919 and specialized in epilepsy, alcoholism and child psychiatry.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Dr. Collier was a past president of the Monroe County Medical Society, the American Psyhiatric Association, the League of Internationale Contre L'Epilepsie and a diplomat of the American Board of Psychiatry and Neurology.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">He leaves his wife, Mrs. Clara Collier, and two daughters, Mrs. Stephen T. Crary of Northampton, Mass., and Miss Elizabeth Collier.</span></p></blockquote><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Alcoholism was a real issue for Hector's brother, Albert, who also died in residency at a hospital but not for epilepsy; different condition all together. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">In any case, I wonder how frequently Hector saw his family, if at all. Patchogue is in Suffolk County on Long Island, about 6 hours from where the Craig Colony was located. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">A new semester has just begun at the college I work for. I look at the incoming freshmen and their parents all anxious about sending their 18 year-olds away for 4 years. And here Hector was being sent away at 19 for what would be the rest his short life. So sad.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I also wonder about the conditions he lived in and why a hospital resident dies so young. Was he really treated well there?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Here is a photo I found online of the hospital at Craig Colony which may very well have been the building in which Hector died.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil4iK4FzE_gfkV89Pzfo94VLQknkxt3YKlNS1Kv_t9MSd5yoGrMTAqTpOSvTT2VUKASDtioUi2b1BHc8-r-TEB-JnoPg3GsYEeDcovKL6COOi_cqPm1JrGbS3YYQ_zsC-07iPmP9sOrH7y8hzqQmqHiqUTRJkgeQF704-oqk4cEwD4_4TyV_VHh_G8Jg/s1024/43314459.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Unidentified creator. “Defectives, Epileptics: United States. New York. Sonyea. Craig Colony: Craig Colony, Sonyea, N.Y. ; Social Museum Collection; Hospital and Labrotory.” Digital image. CURIOSity Collections, Harvard Art Museums/Fogg Museum, Transfer from the Carpenter Center for the Visual Arts, Social Museum Collection, circa 1900. Accessed May 19, 2023. https://iiif.lib.harvard.edu/manifests/view/ids:43314459$1i." border="0" data-original-height="658" data-original-width="1024" height="412" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil4iK4FzE_gfkV89Pzfo94VLQknkxt3YKlNS1Kv_t9MSd5yoGrMTAqTpOSvTT2VUKASDtioUi2b1BHc8-r-TEB-JnoPg3GsYEeDcovKL6COOi_cqPm1JrGbS3YYQ_zsC-07iPmP9sOrH7y8hzqQmqHiqUTRJkgeQF704-oqk4cEwD4_4TyV_VHh_G8Jg/w640-h412/43314459.jpg" title="Unidentified creator. “Defectives, Epileptics: United States. New York. Sonyea. Craig Colony: Craig Colony, Sonyea, N.Y. ; Social Museum Collection; Hospital and Labrotory.” Digital image. CURIOSity Collections, Harvard Art Museums/Fogg Museum, Transfer from the Carpenter Center for the Visual Arts, Social Museum Collection, circa 1900. Accessed May 19, 2023. https://iiif.lib.harvard.edu/manifests/view/ids:43314459$1i." width="640"></a></div><br><span style="font-family: arial;">Unidentified creator. “Defectives, Epileptics: United States. New York. Sonyea. Craig Colony: Craig Colony, Sonyea, N.Y. ; Social Museum Collection; Hospital and Laboratory.” Digital image. CURIOSity Collections, Harvard Art Museums/Fogg Museum, Transfer from the Carpenter Center for the Visual Arts, Social Museum Collection, circa 1900. Accessed May 19, 2023. <a href="https://iiif.lib.harvard.edu/manifests/view/ids:43314459$1i">https://iiif.lib.harvard.edu/manifests/view/ids:43314459$1i</a></span><p></p>Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391173177253541435noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-421944383866797753.post-57243392191225331702023-07-21T11:17:00.000-04:002023-07-21T11:17:46.830-04:00Thank you, Officer Heney<p>The headline of the Brooklyn Daily Times from Monday, December 22, 1924 reads,"16 RESCUED, HERO COP OVERCOME IN SEVENTH AV. FIRE. Patrolman Heney Collapses After Turning in Alarm and Rousing Tenants. 7 CANARIES SMOTHERED. Family of Four Awakened by Fireman, Escape in Night Clothes by Ladder"</p><p>Three of the tenants rescued by Patrolman Joseph Heney were my
great-great aunts and uncle; Gertrude Joyce-Sheridan (February 7, 1863 -
April 21, 1934), George Joyce (November 30, 1854 - March 6, 1931), and
Mary Isabelle
Joyce (June 1, 1861 - January 24, 1940). They were three of my
great-great
grandmother, Agnes C. Joyce-Fay's four siblings.</p><p>In the image below I have highlighted where my family members' names appear. </p><p>The article reads as follows:</p><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;">Sixteen persons were rescued during the cold early hours of today when fire in the basement of the three-story brick building at 89-90 seventh avenue sent clouds of heavy smoke billowing through the structure. Fireman Joseph Denato, of Truck 105, standing at the top of a thirty-foot ladder, awakened Gustav Burkhardt, his wife and two children when he smashed a window in their apartment with his axe. In their night clothes, except for coats. Mrs. Burkhardt, her husband and their children, Henry, 20 and Mildred, 16, went down the ladder to the street.</p><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;">Previous to this, Patrolman Joseph Heney, after discovering the fire and sending an alarm, rushed through the hallways on the second and third floors, awakening occupants of apartments and helping them to the street those he aroused were James Seayth, his wife, and their sons, Kenneth, 17, and Alexander, 15, asleep on the third floor; Charles White, Mrs. White, their daughters, Catherine and Dorothea, and their son Charles, and the occupants of an opposite apartment, Mrs. Gertrude Sheridan, her brother, George Joyce, aged 70, and their sister Mary, 61.</p><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;">Heney collapsed after every one was out, and was relieved from duty after having been restored by an ambulance surgeon.</p><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;">Seven canaries were smothered in the Seayth apartment. Mrs. White brought out her pet canary, but when she slipped on the sidewalk, the bottom dropped from the cage and "Pete" fell into the freezing water from hose lines. Mrs. White kept him warm in her hands thereafter.</p><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;">The women from the burning building were put into the heated taxicab of Louis Kirsch, of 424 Albany avenue, where they remained until arrangements were made to take them into neighbors' homes.</p><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;">The fire was confined to the basement and the stationary store of Samuel Weiss. A third alarm was sent as a precautionary measure.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhiFd67i_Ywbk9HSqwVkhz3pp14OJwvAMjEJmTdCSaCnSsbAt2dCHMnijD7jTmW6zGRsOReJ9ee_GRuuTXMn1SX0O_i9W-PE5GPFyJuG7XWYw9BimQi2vyHBvHAVcX66lSoVSEp5zt5jiTsWIQLXNkJIZkqfBieOwFrU_z__GlvHw8Spva3Y9tRk42Gw/s1642/Brooklyn%20Daily%20Times%20(Brooklyn%20Times%20Union)_Mon_Dec_22_1924.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1642" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhiFd67i_Ywbk9HSqwVkhz3pp14OJwvAMjEJmTdCSaCnSsbAt2dCHMnijD7jTmW6zGRsOReJ9ee_GRuuTXMn1SX0O_i9W-PE5GPFyJuG7XWYw9BimQi2vyHBvHAVcX66lSoVSEp5zt5jiTsWIQLXNkJIZkqfBieOwFrU_z__GlvHw8Spva3Y9tRk42Gw/w640-h316/Brooklyn%20Daily%20Times%20(Brooklyn%20Times%20Union)_Mon_Dec_22_1924.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>The news was picked up in several other newspapers of the day. I have chosen to share this one because it has a photo of the officer who risked his life to save the tenants of that building, including my family.</p><p>There are not many descendants of my third great grandparents, John Aloysius Joyce (February 11, 1829 - September 30, 1910) and Mary Ann O'Neill-Joyce (about 1829 - January 11, 1911). They had 5 children, George, John (about 1857 - February 27, 1896), Mary, Gertrude, and Agnes (my great-great grandmother). Three of them were present at this fire. John had passed many years before this event. There are no records of George, John, or Mary ever marrying. Gertrude had no children. It was only my great-great grandmother who had any offspring; eight to be exact. Although George, Mary, and Gertrude were all considered elderly at the time, 70, 63, and 61 respectively, I cannot imagine what it would have been like for Agnes to lose all 3 of her living siblings at one time had Office Heney not saved them from the blaze.</p><p>Moved by this patrolman's efforts, I researched him a bit and reached out to a descendant of his that I found researching the family on Ancestry. I haven't heard back from Officer Heney's grandson yet but I hope he'll respond. It is not often one finds a photo of a relative in the newspapers, and certainly not one attached to such a heroic deed.</p><p><br /></p>Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391173177253541435noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-421944383866797753.post-8645086564646875012023-06-30T09:45:00.001-04:002023-06-30T09:45:23.977-04:00Where Did You Go, Lydia?<p>I have been looking at my tree, considering what family stories I want to record and realizing that there are some ancestors I truly struggle finding any information on, and I kind of want to record that for posterity too; what I don't know and can't seem to discover.</p><p>My research into my maternal line I have done with little to no guidance. I am estranged from my mother. My maternal grandmother passed before I was born and my maternal grandfather didn't really discuss the past. Reluctant to talk about his family history, I didn't really dig into his line until after he died in 2004.</p><p>One year I set the goal to find the names of all my 3rd great grandparents. I did it. With most of the discoveries came dates of birth and death if nothing else about their lives. However, some of those dates escape me. One in particular that plaques me is the date of death for my 3rd great grandmother Lydia Marie McLean-Sharp. </p><p>She was born on September 15, 1868 in Barnston, Quebec to Elizabeth Walker-McLean and Donald McLean. I know that from her baptismal registration in the Quebec, Canada, Vital and Church Records otherwise known as the Drouin Collection; a rather thorough resource of vital statistics given the time and place of their creation. She was baptized at the Church of England in Hatley, Quebec, not far from Barnston.</p><p>For the life of me I cannot find her date of death though. I have combed through those Drouin records a million times; page by page. Index be damned. Maybe there was some mistranscription of something. Page by page in the narrow time period she must have died in, I find nothing in any of the records for that church or any of the other churches where other relatives had their sacraments of baptism, marriage, and burial. I don't know where she went and it drives me batty.</p><p>I see her in the 1911 Census of Canada, listed as 38 years-old and widowed, although I believe she would have been 43 at the time. She was living with her two children, Mayme (my great grandmother) and Daniel James Sharp Jr. in the house of a cousin, Calvin Moore. Then no mention of Lydia again. I think she had to have passed before 1916 when her son Dan enlists in WWI and lists his sister as his next of kin.</p><p>Lydia was widowed on October 12, 1898, when her husband, Daniel Sharp Sr., 46 years her senior dies in St. Felix-de-Kingsey, Quebec. Yeah, he was 46 years older than her. 46 and a half years older. Don't get me started. It grosses me out too.</p><p>Lydia was young when she was widowed. Maybe she remarried? Moved away? Canadians have this great habit of retaining the woman's maiden name though, in their vital records and on their headstones. A headstone would have likely read "Lydia McLean wife of Daniel Moore." Even so, I still think she died before Dan Jr. enlisted otherwise I think he would have listed his mom as his next of kin. </p><p>She had to have died young too, between 43 and 48. Did she? Where did you go Lydia? What record sets do I even look in? </p>Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391173177253541435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-421944383866797753.post-76093861326437061132023-05-25T10:16:00.000-04:002023-05-26T09:28:35.067-04:00A Visit to My Patriot<p><span style="font-family: arial;">This past March, my cousin Pete and I ventured up to Vermont to visit his aunt. On our way home, we stopped into Forest Hill Cemetery, in East Derry, New Hampshire, where my Moor/Moore ancestors are interred. The Moores are on my maternal side, not the side I share with Cousin Pete but he happily joins me on a lot of my cemetery jaunts. In fact we did a cemetery marathon which you can hear more about in this presentation I did for Allen County Public Library's Genealogy Center, called Victor Henry's Headstone: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nw53oHpcfgA">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nw53oHpcfgA</a> <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Anyway... <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">My great-great-great grandmother, Annie Moore-Sharp (About 1782 - January 14, 1868) was born in this area of New Hampshire. She died in St. Felix-de-Kingsey, Quebec, Canada. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Her father, my 4th great grandfather, William Moore (About 1763 – July 1817), and her mother, Eleanor Moore-Moore (About 1767 – October 19, 1836), were also born in New Hampshire and died in Quebec. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Yes, Eleanor's maiden name was also Moore. She and her husband, William, were actually first cousins. Yeah, grosses me out too but whatever... They were the grandchildren on John Moor (About 1683 - January 24, 1774) and Janet Gray-Moor (About 1687 - March 8, 1776). Actually, I am not confident about Janet's maiden name. She may have been a Cochrane. Both she and John were said to be born in Antrim County, Northern Ireland, making them my European immigrant ancestors on this line of my family tree. They arrived in the New World from Northern Ireland in about 1724.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Eleanor was the daughter of Colonel Daniel Moore (February 11, 1730 - April 13, 1811). William was the son of Lieutenant Colonel Robert Moore (May 26, 1726 - October 25, 1778). Daniel and Robert were brothers who served in the American Revolution. 5th great grandpa, Robert, is buried in this Forest Hill Cemetery along with his wife, parents, and several children. His brother, Colonel Daniel is buried in Old Bedford Cemetery in Bedford, New Hampshire about 15 miles northwest of East Derry.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Back in June of 2012, when I first discovered these patriots in my family tree, I had some dear friends of mine visit this cemetery to look for my family's headstones for me. An odd request, as I tend to do cemetery visits for myself but it just so happened that at the time my friends, Andrea and Laszlo, were visiting his parents who lived in, guess where? That's right! Derry, NH. What the heck, right? <span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">Such a small world that these friends had family in a town that my family helped to settle.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; letter-spacing: 0.2px;">That's right, my ancestors helped to settle Derry, NH. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">In April 1719, sixteen Presbyterian Scotch-Irish families settled there. Then known as Nutfield, the settlement became Londonderry in 1722, shortly before my Moores arrived. Then in 1827 it became Derry. The Moores arrived there in about 1727, only a few short years after their arrival on this continent. One reason the settlement is noteworthy is that in the first year, 1719, a field was planted, known as Common Field, where it is said that the first potato was grown in North America. Nom, nom, nom!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">East Derry was also home to Alan Shepard, yup, first American to travel into space. Anyway... we were in East Derry. Well, we were AT East Derry; my ancestors are IN East Derry...buried in it.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Initially, my friends weren't so sure they'd be able to find the graves of my ancestors. Sometimes it does take a lot of time to find graves in a cemetery, especially if it lacks a directory or someone on the staff present to help you find the headstone.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Nine out of 10 times my relatives don't even have headstones. They were generally poor people who couldn't afford stones. In any case, A<span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">ndrea and Laszlo were kind of astonished that the headstones from the late 1700s were still there. I was kind of astonished that they were astonished. In Hungary, though, where Andrea and Laszlo were raised, gravesites must be financially maintained by the family in order to stay intact. A very foreign concept to Americans who own their family plots for perpetuity.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">In any case, Andrea and Laszlo found my family's graves right away because they are the very first grave as you come through the cemetery's main gate. They had told me that but I didn't quite believe it until I visited and sure enough - they haven't moved. <span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">My 6th great grandparents, John Moor (About 1683 - January 24, 1774) and Janet Moor (About 1687 - March 8, 1776), are the first grave as you come through the gate.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaAFjOJE1kTMqTfO0r7RkG9NDjWEko6AScON1Q3-vQoCgEdCa5k4JcufYdPpAgNI8jhTkV4BTXeoXLGo4elzlArV5qPPdWvzguyDYVZu-dcju8iGmK_egGAhJjqNbmEI9BVxOwJBZPf1Yaw15ugyefvSV-jVS7YIeIQuMS270udm2uhlJfLQIiyjD7nA/s4080/PXL_20230328_175019096.jpg" style="font-family: arial; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="4080" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaAFjOJE1kTMqTfO0r7RkG9NDjWEko6AScON1Q3-vQoCgEdCa5k4JcufYdPpAgNI8jhTkV4BTXeoXLGo4elzlArV5qPPdWvzguyDYVZu-dcju8iGmK_egGAhJjqNbmEI9BVxOwJBZPf1Yaw15ugyefvSV-jVS7YIeIQuMS270udm2uhlJfLQIiyjD7nA/w400-h301/PXL_20230328_175019096.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">John's headstone of the left reads:</span></p><blockquote style="border: medium none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">HERE LYES THE BODY</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">OF MR JOHN MOOR</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">HE DEPARTED THIS </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">LIFE JAN 24 1774</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">AGE 91 YEARS</span></div></blockquote><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Janet's headstone on the right reads:</span></p><blockquote style="border: medium none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">HERE LYES THE BODY</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">OF MRS JENIT MOOR</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">WED TO MR JOHN MOOR</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">SHE DIED MARCH</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">THE 8TH 1776 IN</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">THE 89TH YEAR OF</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">HER AGE</span></div></blockquote><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Not far from them lies their son Lt. Col. Robert Moore (May 22, 1724 - October 25, 1778), my 5th great grandfather:</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGriFikkkhHCptfJ6rp_eMMEX14R_Gh7SUNAI2i0C2J_bc9q1l2tlR3xxwQPAMYRIuCHQwO1IhpKAsaD5EYKfk374jZB8CqRGRrcVSuGmfq4hK8Mo-Pv4fCz8UrLklZSibEmpSJhQ6FKSUAqaKNusHFYe5fFXrAfhgTBW-wYLp38tp9Uhqejuw_JTGfw/s4080/PXL_20230328_175038755.jpg" style="font-family: arial; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4080" data-original-width="3072" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGriFikkkhHCptfJ6rp_eMMEX14R_Gh7SUNAI2i0C2J_bc9q1l2tlR3xxwQPAMYRIuCHQwO1IhpKAsaD5EYKfk374jZB8CqRGRrcVSuGmfq4hK8Mo-Pv4fCz8UrLklZSibEmpSJhQ6FKSUAqaKNusHFYe5fFXrAfhgTBW-wYLp38tp9Uhqejuw_JTGfw/w301-h400/PXL_20230328_175038755.jpg" width="301" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;">My 7th great grandfather's headstone, Samuel Moor (1655 - 1734), also known as Charter Samuel Moor I:</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiPh9Gz57Pa2fWL_r56gdSJ57lNX6Lk9jyuzdlhCas2HGpZmEnCj9V_TT8mw-xTfbBjjK5S_k9w87UQ38ArfxGoYuUN8uEqnNdRFll9r6jgiRsohNFosbHpH349Xbvu1lpHqhBnnFBsVEvUQKZfAgcUjqS5KmTAO4XXiEG6O1vTKsresMeroMTPiVRDw/s4080/PXL_20230328_170557801.jpg" style="font-family: arial; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4080" data-original-width="3072" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiPh9Gz57Pa2fWL_r56gdSJ57lNX6Lk9jyuzdlhCas2HGpZmEnCj9V_TT8mw-xTfbBjjK5S_k9w87UQ38ArfxGoYuUN8uEqnNdRFll9r6jgiRsohNFosbHpH349Xbvu1lpHqhBnnFBsVEvUQKZfAgcUjqS5KmTAO4XXiEG6O1vTKsresMeroMTPiVRDw/w301-h400/PXL_20230328_170557801.jpg" width="301" /></a></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">You can see Samuel was born in Argyll, Scotland and his son, John, above, was born in Northern Ireland. The family was part of the Clan McDonald of Glencoe. In fact, Samuel's nephew, Charter John Moore II (February 13, 1692 - 1741), not to be confused with Samuel's son John, is said to be born on the night of the infamous Massacre of Glencoe; the same night his father, also named John Moor, was slaughtered. So yeah, 7th great grandpa Samuel had a brother, son, and nephew, all named John Moor. Not real creative with the names, these Moors, which makes for some real confusion in one's research.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">This is Charter John Moore II's headstone, first cousin to my 6th great grandfather John Moor:</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWebF0TUn_cr9sVggSwgbQp2gQfDtM8-AnUpvdizsL2hmBDAQjcbzCPgEKFd5_gavBZ4weQZEiTYQlhDzPffYO4oljgEWBiilv8b76Ln-SdR9YqbCK30Nvc8ZAMp-w59TeWQ-7gv6zLif8lL9njrOQDKKiWfye0lsm1Gq3tc1cL2_gQlq7X_F2fbnghg/s2829/charter%20john%20moor%202.jpg" style="font-family: arial; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2829" data-original-width="2131" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWebF0TUn_cr9sVggSwgbQp2gQfDtM8-AnUpvdizsL2hmBDAQjcbzCPgEKFd5_gavBZ4weQZEiTYQlhDzPffYO4oljgEWBiilv8b76Ln-SdR9YqbCK30Nvc8ZAMp-w59TeWQ-7gv6zLif8lL9njrOQDKKiWfye0lsm1Gq3tc1cL2_gQlq7X_F2fbnghg/w241-h320/charter%20john%20moor%202.jpg" width="241" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">You can tell the stone above is a modern day headstone. I assume it replaced an older stone or maybe it was never marked at all. <br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">Below is the headstone of my 7th great grandmother, Mary Partridge-Moor (1660 - 1733), wife of "Charter" Samuel Moor 1:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsoreqvNav_-iZbnoZOW-8fBQDSs06umGYo-ZSkC-N_MLApoFbpoWEu_kC18XVmUGhq45lf1jiL0DPOlMrLkKycJTAh5FLy5oTujdKRnV-Xh8nyhwE6nJsHPDCAwZqcDYkV2guYH41jr0R1TxeeC4gC8pLeoSZ6YTkhZcecVLKXZrW3mSCSji4x4xXIw/s4080/PXL_20230328_170553785.jpg" style="font-family: arial; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4080" data-original-width="3072" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsoreqvNav_-iZbnoZOW-8fBQDSs06umGYo-ZSkC-N_MLApoFbpoWEu_kC18XVmUGhq45lf1jiL0DPOlMrLkKycJTAh5FLy5oTujdKRnV-Xh8nyhwE6nJsHPDCAwZqcDYkV2guYH41jr0R1TxeeC4gC8pLeoSZ6YTkhZcecVLKXZrW3mSCSji4x4xXIw/w301-h400/PXL_20230328_170553785.jpg" width="301" /></a></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I like her flying skull. Classic iconography of the time. Also called "death's head", it is thought to symbolize one's physical death and their spiritual regeneration. <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">There are actually about 80 Moors and Moores listed on FindAGrave buried in Forest Hill Cemetery. I am sure most, if not all of them are connected in some way. I'd love to examine the cemetery closer and unpuzzle the connection between them all, especially those buried so close together in the oldest section of the cemetery. Maybe some day I'll have the time to do that. Time is fleeting though, isn't it? Isn't that what cemeteries remind us?<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Sadly, my friends' father-in-law/step-father, who they had been visiting in East Derry back in 2012, passed away in October 2016. He too is buried in this cemetery, not far from where my Moors are. So I got to visit his grave as well. I love that Michael is so close to my family. Just feels right. <br /> </span></p>Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391173177253541435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-421944383866797753.post-46167783879092467022023-05-02T08:08:00.003-04:002023-05-02T08:57:47.676-04:00The Sticky Wicket of Bringing DNA into your Bag of Genealogy Tools<p><span style="font-family: arial;">Everyone should enter these tests with caution. Maybe you just want that silly "piechart" of ethnicity estimates but, if you ask me, its not really worth that. I personally think they are junk. They are just estimates that will indeed change over time and from company to company as each company increases </span><span style="font-family: arial;">their data pools </span><span style="font-family: arial;">and refines their </span><span style="font-family: arial;">algorithms</span><span style="font-family: arial;">. They mean very little. Unless of course you get some large quantity of unexpected ethnicity, which may be an indication that your family isn't who you think they are.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">J</span><span style="font-family: arial;">ust
as you can discover unpleasant truths in your genealogy record
research, using DNA in your research can be a disarming and potentially
painful experience.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> Maybe you won't suffer major surprises in your DNA results but it is likely that hidden in your tree is an unknown offspring of some relative. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">That being said there is a great deal to be gained by adding the tool of direct-to-consumer DNA to your toolkit.</span></p><p><b><span style="font-family: arial;">Few Surprises to Me</span></b></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Of the 150+ DNA matches of mine and my father's that I have linked into my Ancestry family tree, few were much of a surprise. Mine and my father's, you ask. Yes. Whereas all of my father's DNA matches are individuals who belong in my family tree, I do not match all the people he matches to.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">That can be a hard concept for newbies to get but I only got half my DNA from my father. So some of his DNA that I didn't get are the bits that connect him to some of his distant matches. He matches them, I don't, but they are my relatives just the same.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I personally know my top 28 matches. I mean, like I have met them in-person, in real life, long before DNA tests were available to the public; I have their phone numbers. I KNOW them.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">My first "surprise" was a third cousin match at 41 centimorgans (cMs). She had a family tree linked to her DNA. It was sparse but when I looked at it, I immediately recognized her great grandmother, listed just as "Elizabeth" as my great grandfather's sister. I knew who Elizabeth was because my match had Elizabeth's husband's full name listed. I knew my Elizabeth married that man and thus, Elizabeth was OUR Elizabeth</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I decided to reach out to my match and tell her that I knew her great grandmother's maiden name and had a whole bunch of research done on the Earles of Twillingate, Newfoundland. My match wrote back and said that was great because... she was adopted. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I wasn't shocked in a shattering way but rather felt good that I could contribute to her effort to know her biological family history.</span></p><p><b><span style="font-family: arial;">Breaking Through Brick Walls</span></b></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">DNA has also helped me to break through a nagging research brick wall that I had. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">For the longest time I didn't really know my third great grandmother's maiden name. I know, unbelievable, right? (I say in jest). I know that this is very common. Women's maiden names can be hard to track down. Such is life in a patriarch.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">One year, it may have been in 2010, I set the goal of trying to put a name to each of my third great grandparents. For my father's maternal line, I could trace back to a man named Victor Henry born in about 1838 in Switzerland and who died in Queens County, New York on November 9, 1896. His wife's name was Mary. Her maiden name was something like Carrion; which is actually a word that means the decaying flesh of dead animals. Lovely. But I knew that name was not correct because, 1. I had seen is spelled a dozen different ways, and 2. because of this notation on Mary's death certificate:</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcATvf10iePowcyUN6VDnDcjI2cIpp9ccfyDgh889eBaMxokh2N4RxKATnFqtq6fcbnuOqgQ1UPLchD6Zw1XEh_2Spmh9HuJropFTSHWmAho9vZ28cG6fhhXTwU8Ts7HsPr-Cm-RyM2e3GS22N6Lrisi1ZfcPdLkSzOXsrCe_xpGOHZZxXX_MwkGC86g/s636/Henry_Mary_death%20cert_notation.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="121" data-original-width="636" height="122" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcATvf10iePowcyUN6VDnDcjI2cIpp9ccfyDgh889eBaMxokh2N4RxKATnFqtq6fcbnuOqgQ1UPLchD6Zw1XEh_2Spmh9HuJropFTSHWmAho9vZ28cG6fhhXTwU8Ts7HsPr-Cm-RyM2e3GS22N6Lrisi1ZfcPdLkSzOXsrCe_xpGOHZZxXX_MwkGC86g/w640-h122/Henry_Mary_death%20cert_notation.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">It reads: Could not ascertain Mother's Maiden name - August Henry</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">August was her son and the informant providing details to the medical examiner about Mary.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I knew Carrion was not correct.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Flash forward to receiving my DNA results in mid-November 2013. I really didn't know all the benefits of using DNA as a genealogy research tool then. Now I can handle results in a systematic way to decipher relationships and connections but back then I was just scrolling through matches and randomly poking around in peoples' family trees. I came across a tree that had all this old Long Island family names. Thus I assumed the match was through my paternal grandfather who's maternal line settled on Long Island in the 1630s. As I got to the bottom of the tree though I saw the name Joseph Carillion. Carillion. Hmm. I had seen that name before. Yes, on August Henry's marriage certificate, his witness was Harry Carillion. And when I had first seen his marriage record I recalled researching Harry suspecting that perhaps he was a cousin. Carrion. Carillion. They sound a lot alike. I couldn't make a connection back in late 2011.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Once I had seen this match in my DNA results though, I reached out to the individual who managed the DNA kit and received a lot of information and was finally able to solidify that Mary's maiden name was indeed Carillion. Harry was her nephew. August and Harry were first cousins. Since my match was descended from Mary's brother, there wasn't that patriarchal name changing business that I had to deal with.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Finding Mary's maiden name allowed me to find much more documentation for the family and deepen my understanding of that line's family history.</span></p><p><b><span style="font-family: arial;">...But Not All Discoveries for Everyone are Happy Discoveries.</span></b></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Now that I have a decade of dealing with my own DNA results, I am confident helping others decipher their results. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I volunteer to help people track down their bio-dads or birth parents; the term most commonly used for this is search angel. The experience has resulted in a mixed bag of emotions. </span></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;">I have had to tell a man who was nearly 50 years-old that he was adopted.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;">I've had to tell people that the man they know as their father is not their biological father.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;">I've had birth fathers tell me to go away.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;">I've had a Vietnam veteran have to tell his children that there was a newly discovered sibling from his time in the service; and they were all good with it.<br /></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;">I've confirmed suspicious for a woman that her father was not her bio-father which only deepened the schism between her and her mother. The lies and the denial, unfathomable</span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;">I have had to tell donor conceived sisters that they were not full biological siblings despite what the sperm bank told their mother.</span></li></ul><div><span style="font-family: arial;">And sometimes people don't have high enough matches to determine who their birth parents were and unfortunately, I can't tell them much of anything.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">In general, everyone should enter these tests with caution. Maybe you won't suffer major surprises but, again, it is likely that hidden in your tree is an unknown offspring of some relative and perhaps you will be placed in the middle of a uncomfortable situation.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Often the uncomfortable situation has very little if anything to do with you. You are just the waypoint for another to learn their truth. </span></div><p></p>Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391173177253541435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-421944383866797753.post-36868575544432255962023-03-31T09:39:00.000-04:002023-03-31T09:39:30.492-04:00Another Relative at Creedmoor<p><span style="font-family: arial;">I am not shy about admitting to my struggles with depression and anxiety. There was a time when I would have said my depression was far more severe than my anxiety, although, I think I have lived with anxiety far longer. The two conditions often go hand-in-hand. My anxiety, for most of my life, was a daily battle. Nervousness and panic would overcome me in debilitating physical symptoms; nausea and vomiting were the most prevalent of them. This was true on a daily basis for most of my youth and through my mid-20s. Now it only hits me a couple times a year.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I am also not shy about admitting to my family members struggles with mental illnesses either. Now of course that is not fair of me but it is not that I point and call them each out publicly. Your health, your business; but trust me, it's in there and it is certainly among my dead.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I don't really get the persistent stigma about mental health issues. I mean, people have other fucked up organs. "Oh poor asthma people with your f-ed up lungs. Here, take this drug and you'll get better." The brain is just another organ in the body. But in any case...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I just found another relative who died while a patient at Creedmoor Psychiatric Hospital in Queens, New York. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Psychiatric institutions,
in my opinion, really did begin as benevolent institutions. Some might argue that they were created to hide away the shamefully mentally ill people in our society, but I really think the medical community did want to understand these peoples' conditions and I think they have made great stride in addressing mental health maladies although we are indeed far from what is needed. It was only much later, after these institutions were establishment, when we started to see their state of disrepair and the medical community's indifference toward patients, if not outright cruelty and neglect. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I am currently reading <i>Damnation Island: Poor, Sick, Mad, and Criminal in 19th-Century New York</i> by Stacy Horn about Blackwell's Island, now known as Roosevelt Island. It was once the City's location for an asylum, a prison, hospital, workhouse, and almshouse. So far it's a great read that sheds a light on the deplorable conditions our mentally ill existed in. Anyway...</span></p><p class="story-body-text" itemprop="articleBody"><span style="font-family: arial;">Creedmoor Psychiatric Hospital was founded in 1912 as a farm colony for the Brooklyn State Hospital. It was thought that patients would benefit from fresh air and clean living in what was the farmland of Queens County, as opposed to disease ridden, urban hospitals of neighboring Brooklyn. To a modern day resident of New York it's kind of hard to imagine Queens as farmland; it is the second highest populated county in New York State, just after Brooklyn. Back at its inception though, patients at Creedmoor tended gardens and raised livestock on the
hospital’s grounds. They also had access to the hospital gymnasium, swimming pool, theater, and were put to work in the hospital's laundries and kitchens. By mid-century, though, it housed about 7,000 patients. I found one statistic that by
1948 approximately 95,000 patients lived in 27
mental institutions across New York State; that is close to when my great grandfather was a resident of Creedmoor. He died there of a heart attack in 1946. </span></p><p class="story-body-text" itemprop="articleBody"><span style="font-family: arial;">By the 1960s-1980s the state pushed for deinstitutionalization, turning to more out-patient services and focusing on re-integrating the mentally ill into society. Laws governing the commitment of the mentally ill to such institutions became much more strict and therefor it was harder to involuntarily hospitalize people with mental illness. Now Creedmoor has only a few hundred patients. I don't know if we need more or less institutionalization of the mentally ill but we're not getting mentally healthier as a society, that is for sure.</span></p><p class="story-body-text" itemprop="articleBody"><span style="font-family: arial;">In any case, my great-great grandmother's sister, Gertrude M. Joyce-Sheridan, appears to have been committed to Creedmoor. Her death certificate calls it the Creedmoor Division of Brooklyn State Hospital. Her primary cause of death is listed as chronic myocarditis; inflammation of the heart. It also includes general arteriosclerosis and psychosis. Without access to her medical records, which is rarely if ever possible as they are only ever released to the patient themselves, I speculate that she was a resident there because of dementia. It says psychosis but that is merely a disconnection from reality. It can be associated with a whole array of mental illnesses. Psychosis can develop from anything as benign as a lack of sleep or hypoglycemia (low blood sugar); to a serious mental disorders such as schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, or depression; or from a brain tumor, lupus, multiple sclerosis, syphilis, malaria, Parkinson's disease, Alzheimer's disease, the list goes on and on. In short many conditions can lead to a break with reality.</span></p><p class="story-body-text" itemprop="articleBody"><span style="font-family: arial;">The certificate states she was admitted to Creedmoor on May 3, 1932 and died there on April 21, 1934. Thus she was 2 weeks shy of having been a resident there for 2 years. It documents her age as 70 but according to my research she was born on February 7, 1863 making her a little over 71 at the time of her death and 69 at the time of her admittance to the facility. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNnBc1XI00EAsmeaQZ869umoLjer_CStfKwPhqkOX9RXph5MyS_6iCCuvPdiHob5Xx7JiO0nJHpkqCDEgCnOdRpntUBtlwxJHaGAs_hNJS2S03onrxY5HbvL7Ycmal9EqZWX8Via8KwSCTMMaZetzJrYJUIlai1jN-YweeMY9GPtof0u8xkIAEYojwQA/s764/Joyce_Gertrude_death_1934.jpg" style="font-family: arial; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="764" data-original-width="719" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNnBc1XI00EAsmeaQZ869umoLjer_CStfKwPhqkOX9RXph5MyS_6iCCuvPdiHob5Xx7JiO0nJHpkqCDEgCnOdRpntUBtlwxJHaGAs_hNJS2S03onrxY5HbvL7Ycmal9EqZWX8Via8KwSCTMMaZetzJrYJUIlai1jN-YweeMY9GPtof0u8xkIAEYojwQA/w376-h400/Joyce_Gertrude_death_1934.jpg" width="376" /></a></div><p class="story-body-text" itemprop="articleBody"><span style="font-family: arial;">Gertrude's remains are interred at Calvary Cemetery in the Woodside/Long Island City area of Queens; in Cemetery #3, Section #17, Range #22, Plot EE, Grave #12.</span></p>Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391173177253541435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-421944383866797753.post-38152338462317862542023-03-03T10:33:00.000-05:002023-03-03T10:33:25.759-05:00Never Trust an Index<span style="font-family: arial;">I recently gave a presentation on getting started in genealogy research at a local public library. One of the lessons I stressed, there and to my summer students, is to really read the documents you find. Whether it be through a database or a physical document you obtained from a library, archive, or municipal agency, you have to really read it. Read it!! The details reveal clues to potential uncovering more documentation.</span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Additionally, never trust an index. Genealogical documentation has many layers of potential for human errors. There could be mistakes made when the record was originally created or it could just as easily have a error made when the record is transcribed into machine readable type. People have to type up the text of a document for a searchable index to be created. Wellllll....that is not entirely true. Now with artificial intelligence and its predecessor OCR (Optical Character Recognition), people don't always create the index. Although, people should be the final reviewers of those indexes.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">For years and years I searched for my Grandpa Earle and his parents in the 1930 U.S. Federal Census with no success until I tried a search constructed with just the state, county, and household members first names - - no last name. And sure enough Abram, Ethel, Allen, and Edwin came up in New York, Nassau County, Town of Hempstead indexed as Carle, not Earle. And look at the image:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi8_FLcj6ovKJLcZbGIxopJckDJvsG7k2O8Zq5ba5YQJwL889jQ5lL_jlRweB2WAq_sNxekJkgAlDEZ1hBIb0v8l2NOCGeiYmEtftlyQIgNph7QB0eagXsL1i7G6ub7v4TMgrQaaQHPqSSJx7nv27SxFc6pZqjXYjsZvoIruDadcMThxsNr-ZJ6CB25Tw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img data-original-height="682" data-original-width="1236" height="354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi8_FLcj6ovKJLcZbGIxopJckDJvsG7k2O8Zq5ba5YQJwL889jQ5lL_jlRweB2WAq_sNxekJkgAlDEZ1hBIb0v8l2NOCGeiYmEtftlyQIgNph7QB0eagXsL1i7G6ub7v4TMgrQaaQHPqSSJx7nv27SxFc6pZqjXYjsZvoIruDadcMThxsNr-ZJ6CB25Tw=w640-h354" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />See the way that E is written? Totally looks like a C. And even soundexing searches wouldn't pick up that mis-transcription; if you could even call it a mis-transcription. Honestly, that is just shitty penmanship if you ask me. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Another example of an error in the index comes from working with another researcher. She knew where the family should be living at the time the 1940 census was taken. When we look at the index page on Ancestry if clearly indicated the family was black and my client insisted that it could not be her family even though all the names and address matched. "Really? You really don't think it's not them?"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEju2BuN3xSBC2ql8Efyj2iL9lyFWail79rOjzBJxZ8kVJNAKexjKxnD8j150PHYxCC_oVUs3I7bcADqIM8e6nuZeIo2GnIrMtYTVOJa46d9vq6GH_0ZyHS-MXoIJefFkIme2rMWzIyYrT2LPyGepoQjPu-Morb2ZMG9U6-IMoHUT_FQs-Fc8ZV2zKce1Q" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img data-original-height="580" data-original-width="1039" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEju2BuN3xSBC2ql8Efyj2iL9lyFWail79rOjzBJxZ8kVJNAKexjKxnD8j150PHYxCC_oVUs3I7bcADqIM8e6nuZeIo2GnIrMtYTVOJa46d9vq6GH_0ZyHS-MXoIJefFkIme2rMWzIyYrT2LPyGepoQjPu-Morb2ZMG9U6-IMoHUT_FQs-Fc8ZV2zKce1Q=w640-h358" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />Of course it is them. If you open that image of the actual record you can clearly see that the family is listed as "W" as in white. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjOkTmDBa5HKQCobNarlMqvmYyHKy7sUkQxZz0YoZYwil-zSRomtulbJsipGTwMlQkF-xn3hjTrHgX7xS-1hKCJSCucvd930tubTz6_xeqc4LsaXixBjJhwCJ6c7t5LWjPXoi67Z6RRHTe1o7DCosTk6eFJR16f7Lm0IYoZYK4FwiltIXaXVLUasOslPA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img data-original-height="554" data-original-width="1108" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjOkTmDBa5HKQCobNarlMqvmYyHKy7sUkQxZz0YoZYwil-zSRomtulbJsipGTwMlQkF-xn3hjTrHgX7xS-1hKCJSCucvd930tubTz6_xeqc4LsaXixBjJhwCJ6c7t5LWjPXoi67Z6RRHTe1o7DCosTk6eFJR16f7Lm0IYoZYK4FwiltIXaXVLUasOslPA=w640-h320" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />Again, never trust an index. Look at the original record. Even if you don't think that could be your people, look anyway. </span></div>Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391173177253541435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-421944383866797753.post-82630674054513091792023-02-24T10:16:00.003-05:002023-02-24T10:16:47.853-05:00Hey Universe, Stop Talking to Me so Early in the Morning<p><span style="font-family: arial;">Weird things happen in research. Sometimes I notch it up to the Universe trying to speak to me; which is actually a phrase I detest. If the Universe is speaking to me, it's much too unclear for this early in the morning. It's 8 a.m. on a Friday morning before I have even finished my coffee.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">In any case, sometimes when you do research, weird things happen. This morning I was looking to see if there were any news articles out there about the first female sports team at the College where I work. I tried poking around the <i>Brooklyn Daily Eagle</i>. Even though my college is clearly on Long Island, situated right on the boarder of Nassau and Suffolk County, the <i>Brooklyn Daily Eagle</i> picked up news from all over the Island, City, state, nation, and world. If you had anyone living in the City of New York you should check the <i>Brooklyn Daily</i> for a mention of them. It's free: <a href="https://bklyn.newspapers.com/paper/the-brooklyn-daily-eagle/1890/">https://bklyn.newspapers.com/paper/the-brooklyn-daily-eagle/1890/</a></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">So I did a "hail Mary" kind of search. I just put in some keywords; Farmingdale, agriculture, and basketball; and limited to the year 1925.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The first page that came up was page 24 of the November 27, 1925 edition. On that page there was nothing about our College's women's basketball team but there was the picture below of Miss Kathrine Boller.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX7mN8Gd5pT8zqx-dnGB8uY7z3D5YAUYM8PWi1NAfUsrOeRS2KUZ8_OEXddfF_2CLdHtP9yV3SISMXyvgjNt4zyfSoNlqyhDq-7iCu-eV7l1DSKIcBf6Lfsfv_jj7Y5L7lt30JRw6kwjge7RXLH5-BQnqgVptHI2O1mwhefgQTc1xWEtldXOjGdBXXNQ/s759/Boller_Kathryn_Basketball_brooklyn%20Daily%20Eagle_27Nov1925.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="759" data-original-width="481" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX7mN8Gd5pT8zqx-dnGB8uY7z3D5YAUYM8PWi1NAfUsrOeRS2KUZ8_OEXddfF_2CLdHtP9yV3SISMXyvgjNt4zyfSoNlqyhDq-7iCu-eV7l1DSKIcBf6Lfsfv_jj7Y5L7lt30JRw6kwjge7RXLH5-BQnqgVptHI2O1mwhefgQTc1xWEtldXOjGdBXXNQ/w406-h640/Boller_Kathryn_Basketball_brooklyn%20Daily%20Eagle_27Nov1925.jpg" width="406" /></span></a></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The word basketball appears in the article about Kathrine and the other words appear scattered on the page in other articles but the weird thing is that, I know Kathrine Boller (September 17, 1908 - March 15, 1995). Well, I never met her in-person but I researched the hell out of her and her family. She is the daughter of Claude Villette Boller (March 1869 - August 2, 1951) of Freeport, New York. Katherine's second husband was Norman Holland Foote (December 12, 1909 - March 2, 1999). <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Now why did I research her?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Good question. Glad you asked.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Because here at Farmingdale State College we own the scrapbook of Katherine's father. I research that scrapbook for over a year and developed an online exhibit about its creator and its contents: <a href="https://bollerscrapbook.omeka.net/exhibits">https://bollerscrapbook.omeka.net/exhibits</a> <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Our only known connection to Mr. Boller would be through his son-in-law,
Mr. Foote. Mr. Foote was a professor and the Head of the Agricultural Engineering
Department at what is now Farmingdale State College from 1948 until his
retirement in 1967. His career at Farmingdale began in 1933 when our
institution was known as the State Institute Of Applied Agriculture. We assume that the College Archives must have acquired Mr.
Boller's Scrapbook from Mr. Foote before he retired in 1967. <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">It is a fascinating resource about the life of a noteworthy tailor from about 1883 - 1907. Mr. Boller established the men's wear department of the noteworthy Montgomery Ward & Co. in Chicago, Illinois. He began working for the famous catalog mail order company, Montgomery Ward, on September 29, 1896 and left on January 1, 1906 amidst the turbulent Chicago Teamsters' Strike. The Chicago Teamsters' Strike of 1905, which is noted as one of the bloodiest labor strikes in U.S. history, actually began in the Montgomery Ward & Co. cutting room where Mr. Boller was the manager</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">In any case, serendipity happens. Just thought I'd share. I guess the Universe is telling me to get back to work.<br /></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391173177253541435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-421944383866797753.post-82348739568059265062023-01-20T09:11:00.000-05:002023-01-30T09:47:18.013-05:00Another Remarkable Yearbook FindI actually discover this a few months back and posted about it on FaceBook but didn't blog about it. It's one of the coolest genealogy finds I've had in recent days. On May 6, 2022, I came across another beautiful yearbook entry in Ancestry's online yearbook collection. <div><br></div><div>It was in my paternal grandmother's high school yearbook. There were many pictures of my grandma, Clare Henry-Earle, in there but here is her portrait. Oh that's not the cool part, though. I had seen this photo before.<br></div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br></div><div>She was very active in high school. She was in a sorority, student council, performed in a play, and played the flute in the marching band. You can't see her in the band photo below though.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br></div><div>She is little, under 5'. At her full height I think she hit 4'9". At 93 years old today she has shrunk some since high school; which, if you ask me is criminal. If my 4'9" Nanny has to lose any inches, you 6' folks out there should have to lose a foot, at least, but I digress. As she played the flute, so she's somewhere in the middle of a band photo where flute players assemble. Oh but the band wasn't really the cool part either. This was...<br></div><div><br></div><div>...she signed this yearbook!! </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br></div><div>"Best of luck to a swell kid. Love, Clare"</div><div><br></div><div>Which ever classmate's yearbook Ancestry got a hold of and digitized, my grandmother signed it. That is unmistakably my Grandma Clare's handwriting! Very cool.<br></div>Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391173177253541435noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-421944383866797753.post-26425360420827797812023-01-10T10:00:00.001-05:002023-01-10T10:00:39.523-05:00Cranky at QuestionsI'm cranky. Tis the season I suppose. Just through the holidays, still in the depths of the cold and dark winter, illness around me. <div><br></div><div>I just haven't felt well for months now. First a battle with an adjustment in meds, just getting that worked out and now I have COVID. Oh, I'm fine. Thank God for vaccines. I'm double boosted which is what I attribute my mild case to. Honestly, I've gone to work much sicker than this back in November when I had, what I think was a sinus infection and that too high dose of medication. I'm a little underwhelmed really. This is COVID? I feel worse with seasonal allergies. You mean everyone doesn't feel like this September through May? I'm lucky.<div><br></div><div>In any case, I'm finding myself extremely annoyed by some of the genealogy groups I follow on Facebook so much so that I have nearly dropped them all.</div><div><br></div><div>With not much else to do in my room, I'm spending a lot of time reading and scrolling through social media. Just bored.<br><div><br></div><div>There are some things that novice genealogy researchers are asking that just grate on me. I know they are new and learning. </div></div><div><br></div><div>I know, I know, I'm a librarian. I'm supposed to be all wide-eyed and bushy tailed waiting with baited breath for your very personal question, all too eager and delighted to direct you to what - the stapler? Like Julie Andrews twilling on some mountain top of information or a bespectacled Snow White with little woodland creatures gathering about me ready to flit off at my startling notice of you. "Oh, why, yes. How can I help you?" </div><div><br></div><div>My New Yorker comes barreling out, "Yeah, over there with the pencil sharpener. Open your eyes, buddy." </div><div><br></div><div>I'm cranky but also despite what your grade school teachers told you, there are dumb questions. </div></div><div><br></div><div>I know, I know. I'm an educator gearing up for another summer course. And I know that if you're new at something and you don't ask, you'll never learn. That's what you think, right? But actually that's not true. You don't have to ask to learn. You can read. Oh yes you can. You can read to learn. I do it all the time. Day 4 of my quarantine. 9 books into my to-be-read pile. Reading teaches you tons of shit!</div><div><br></div><div>Like....</div><div><br></div><div>No. You're not going to find your 7th great grandfather's birth certificate from the 1720s. New York State didn't issue certificates until 1881. Look it up.</div><div><br></div><div>And No filing a FOIL request won't change that. (Jesus, save them.)</div><div><br></div><div>No. You can't edit the way your family's race is recorded in the 1860 census. You're not an enumerator and this is not 1860. Enumerator? Look it up.</div><div><br></div><div>No. Your parents aren't related just because you have a single 10 centimorgan match to some random dude in the middle of Great Britain that Ancestry says matches parent 1 and parent 2.</div><div><br></div><div>Ugh, God, no. Parent 1 isn't always the farther.</div><div><br></div><div>Oh the DNA questions. People, read.</div><div><br></div><div>No. You're not adopted just because your ethnicity estimate says you are 24% Welsh and your sister is 2% Welsh. She matches you right? Estimate? Look it up.</div><div><br></div><div>And some of these Facebook group admins. I've left a few groups because the admins shut down posts just because the author asked a question barely outside the parameters of the groups intent. <span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">But oh..oh...</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">why don't they turn off comments for the post that already has 500,000 replies all saying the exact same thing.</span></div><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;"><br></span></div><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">Yeah, I'm cranky.</span></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391173177253541435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-421944383866797753.post-67009267867913501122023-01-03T11:24:00.000-05:002023-01-03T11:24:00.043-05:00I’d Like to Meet...<p>In 2022 I participated in Amy Johnson Crow's 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks Challenge, and I am quite proud to say, I accomplished it! I blogged every week, writing to a majority of the themes she put forth. This year, I commit to writing at least once a month and I may at times use her prompts to stimulate and inspire my blogging. I would however, also like to commit some time to making more discoveries in my personal genealogy research. Writing takes time. Search takes time too.</p><p>The 52 Ancestors Challenge theme for this week, though, is "I'd Like to Meet..."</p><p>Pondering the past tense of that theme, I would have liked to have met my maternal grandmother, Marilyn Irene Fay-Gardner (August 28, 1930 - June 5, 1972). She passed away so very young, at the age of 41, the year before I was born. I had all three of my other grandparents until my Grandpa Earle died in 2000, shortly after my 26th birthday. Grandpa Gardner passed in 2004. Grandma Earle will be 94 in February. Sadly she no longer recognizes her family due to the ravages of Alzheimer's disease but she's otherwise hangin' in there. So I knew my grandparents. I can tell you a lot about each of them, well, except Grandma Gardner who no one, not my grandpa, not her children, no one spoke about. </p><p>Prompted to want to know more about my Grandma Gardner and having tapped out the resources on Ancestry.com, I went looking in other databases, namely MyHeritage. My subscription runs out there in February so while I have it and the time off from work during this holiday week, I went looking. </p><p>I think I have found my grandma's high school yearbook photo. I'm not sure. I've only seen 2 other images of her. Once a long time ago when I was a kid my mother showed me a photo of her mom. I want to say it was taken at a baby shower. Marilyn, or Lynne, as everyone called her, did have a bunch of babies so I'm not sure when it was taken and I don't have the image to refer back to as, sadly, I am estranged from my mother. The other image I have of Lynne was from about 1950 from an unidentified newspaper announcement of her engagement to my Grandpa. It's terribly unclear, graining like most newspaper photos.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZIjcuLWilssbPcXXFAcVY66xDg-2dl9LFqlW8pqaUV5q_4ehvu5591iB8knLk4Oq4wv6DCx8xKcikcrXovSJwtATEL0HbRpz3CzsCihR4XRoZULJKiipkC9RgGJmA-A9XZuHEPdI97s3eJlEDH8e5EZjtEA_mzt7sl6LwPn6zm0wVLJ4DpJD2Cr5S0w/s1567/Fay_Marilyn_%20Engagement1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1567" data-original-width="955" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZIjcuLWilssbPcXXFAcVY66xDg-2dl9LFqlW8pqaUV5q_4ehvu5591iB8knLk4Oq4wv6DCx8xKcikcrXovSJwtATEL0HbRpz3CzsCihR4XRoZULJKiipkC9RgGJmA-A9XZuHEPdI97s3eJlEDH8e5EZjtEA_mzt7sl6LwPn6zm0wVLJ4DpJD2Cr5S0w/w244-h400/Fay_Marilyn_%20Engagement1.jpg" width="244" /></a></div><p><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">The new image I found is from the 1948 yearbook at </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">Newtown High School in </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">Elmhurst, Queens, New York. The name, year, and location fit. I think it's her.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3VFZKp-Ct1jgKQ5iTJywCuFIIRAsasqxpdS0kvtKYj92FJCNAwSgQ1YRAG6c0zQ8cp0NG8hSB7Am4s7VkIRK_un0eE6BWnKsky-0OT6NhjPyYbSEqFmf-TG8EjMD5HI9E0h8Lpp-sNekpm7ykTCF5JQAKHB6rFThFfo4wabpIjOlhpF9gIe4IMhxWcw/s1073/Fay_Marilyn_1948_Newtown%20Yearbook_Colorized_detail.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="441" data-original-width="1073" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3VFZKp-Ct1jgKQ5iTJywCuFIIRAsasqxpdS0kvtKYj92FJCNAwSgQ1YRAG6c0zQ8cp0NG8hSB7Am4s7VkIRK_un0eE6BWnKsky-0OT6NhjPyYbSEqFmf-TG8EjMD5HI9E0h8Lpp-sNekpm7ykTCF5JQAKHB6rFThFfo4wabpIjOlhpF9gIe4IMhxWcw/w640-h264/Fay_Marilyn_1948_Newtown%20Yearbook_Colorized_detail.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">The day I found the image I sent it to all my siblings as well as the two cousins with whom I have any contact information. Being the eldest grandchild I didn't think any of them would be able to identify the grandmother we never knew but I thought they'd appreciate having it. I showed my father, who knew Lynne. Not only was she hid mother-in-law, he grew up next door to her. He was not confident that it was her though. She died 50 years ago and this high school yearbook photo was taken long before he knew her so I understand his reluctant to confidently identify her. I showed his brother, my Uncle Allen, and he too was unsure. I know my mother would recognize her, but again, I have no contact with her nor do I have contact with either of her sisters. Well, one I could email I guess but she was only 2 when her mother passed. Hmm. Anyway - - -</span><p></p><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">The following day it dawned on me that I should look in that same school's yearbooks for Lynne's sisters; one of them I knew. When I was in my teens, every summer I would go to Florida and spend a month with my grandfather and he would always make sure I spent a day with his sister-in-law, my Great Aunt Ann. I could probably count on my fingers how many times I saw Ann in my life, however, I am 100% sure this is Aunt Ann's yearbook photo from Newtown High School, 1938. </span></div><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlguU0miS5vDzghrv8zHlBGHrV61HKh2buECv1-jbXAKWFLwkooWKh9hZYFx-46ovGSiF2mH00Cphq1WMKWtRx4h8sgn9PyfBJpN0oyuC8X4FhYLftiaQ6ZlKKre7LN3NphSpouT5oPvL-XJCIJUeHIxXR5WG2sfp8-eENZRQiEHs3sAcI304VG7QLCw/s414/Fay_Ann_HSyearbook.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="414" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlguU0miS5vDzghrv8zHlBGHrV61HKh2buECv1-jbXAKWFLwkooWKh9hZYFx-46ovGSiF2mH00Cphq1WMKWtRx4h8sgn9PyfBJpN0oyuC8X4FhYLftiaQ6ZlKKre7LN3NphSpouT5oPvL-XJCIJUeHIxXR5WG2sfp8-eENZRQiEHs3sAcI304VG7QLCw/w640-h296/Fay_Ann_HSyearbook.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div><div><br /></div><div>The discovering of Ann in the the same school's yearbook at the right time period, I am not confident that this is a picture of my grandma Lynne.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXKljk6HuWGzOMb5A_aSjXgISK7Pi9B-FIFoPyuvmDQrLMvG6TB4B8ZfDuu5yLg3Tl8n-Eqnc75eVENtaBU_ivAuqY5nhw6JfD8QPqR_iKEHZNVkZBVtYL6I043d9ZSx68PLynKlqbePlQ7u9o6E4EycIOwnOdggcbLCGwg6nMKlmTYsABuvBimEcAAw/s378/Fay_Marilyn_%20hs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="378" data-original-width="312" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXKljk6HuWGzOMb5A_aSjXgISK7Pi9B-FIFoPyuvmDQrLMvG6TB4B8ZfDuu5yLg3Tl8n-Eqnc75eVENtaBU_ivAuqY5nhw6JfD8QPqR_iKEHZNVkZBVtYL6I043d9ZSx68PLynKlqbePlQ7u9o6E4EycIOwnOdggcbLCGwg6nMKlmTYsABuvBimEcAAw/s320/Fay_Marilyn_%20hs.jpg" width="264" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Hi grandma.<br /><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;"><br /></span></div>Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391173177253541435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-421944383866797753.post-49783503719534770442022-12-27T08:24:00.000-05:002022-12-27T08:24:01.586-05:0052 Ancestors Challenge Week 52: "Looking Ahead" - Will I do this Challenge Again?<p><span style="font-family: arial;">This weekly blogging challenge was an excellent exercise. I am glad I did it. It increased my readership, made me examine some records more closely, and helped me to discover more details about the history my ancestors lived through.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Honestly it was a big time commitment though, and I don't know if I will have the stamina to accomplish it every week for the coming year - I mean, I do have a full-time job and several part-time gigs. A girl has to sleep sometime. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I would like to commit to continuing to write more, though. That is, after all, why I started a blog in the first place. Typically I just write when a random discovery is made AND if I have the time to write. Those two factors don't often intersect and it does take time to just make discoveries. Prior to accepting this challenge my posts were infrequent, at best. Thus, </span><span style="font-family: arial;">I'd like to set some attainable goal.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">So, I am committing to doing this challenge again in 2023 but as a monthly activity, making additional entries when and if time permits or discoveries arise. </span><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Thank you, Amy Crow Johnson for the inspiration.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I wish you all a 2023 riddled with family history dirt. <br /></span></p>Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391173177253541435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-421944383866797753.post-17534195440931418812022-12-19T10:08:00.004-05:002022-12-27T08:28:25.729-05:0052 Ancestors Challenge Week 51: "Perseverance" - Great-great Grandma Annette Hinch-Henry Survives Strife and Helped Others to do the Same<p><span style="font-family: arial;">The word "perseverance" brings to mind my great-great grandmother, Annette "Anne" Hinch-Henry (February 22, 1868 - March 2, 1952). In fact, I feel like Anne's life would make for a good movie and I know exactly who I would have play her... Can you guess who?<br></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvUrHB1-rEF2_ni6xbyuc-bp3ManhlFybHj54UX0m0z4OLH9N0y0LRsfWs1Z5mnlVa4EkRaTIv4gsHKkJZrJ8_vAW2b_y4fDRHnoTCtZiifDBkl1tyxOJlyI8DChqCJaFIDY9LgTqXSU8Rwy9fh_kB1PjHDbVjU_iYxvljcdX-qC8UlO5xHNSY81gQ7Q/s1949/hinch%20family%20photos_0001.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1949" data-original-width="1269" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvUrHB1-rEF2_ni6xbyuc-bp3ManhlFybHj54UX0m0z4OLH9N0y0LRsfWs1Z5mnlVa4EkRaTIv4gsHKkJZrJ8_vAW2b_y4fDRHnoTCtZiifDBkl1tyxOJlyI8DChqCJaFIDY9LgTqXSU8Rwy9fh_kB1PjHDbVjU_iYxvljcdX-qC8UlO5xHNSY81gQ7Q/w416-h640/hinch%20family%20photos_0001.jpg" width="416"></span></a></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">...Julia Roberts! I think she looks a lot like her. I didn't get those genes.<br></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Anne was born in Barnamelia, by Knockanna, Co. Wicklow, Ireland in 1868. As far as I can tell her mother, Jane Kavanaugh-Hinch died in about 1875 leaving 6 children ranging in age from about 10 to 2. I have not been able to find a death record for Jane in any Irish registers. In fact, many of the details I have about the Hinch family are vague at best. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">For instance, I don't know when Anne came to the U.S. from Ireland. Various census records note her arrival in 1886, 1887, and possibly 1890. I did find a record for a Jas Hinch or Hench arriving on June 6, 1885 aboard the H.M.S. City of Chester with 2 daughters, Anne 22 and Sarah age 20. Now her father James Hinch did have 2 daughters, Anne and her younger sister, Sarah, but the ages are off a bit, not that that ever matters. I do think that 1885 arrival date is correct though. It is said she came to NY from Ireland with her widowed father after the death of her younger brother; that could be them. As if the loss of her mother and a younger sibling weren't enough tragedy, her father James dies in the City of New York on January 29, 1886, not long after their arrival in the U.S. I can only assume that her paternal uncle, Charles Hinch, assumed a role of father figure to Anne.<br></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Nine years later, though, her uncle Charles Hinch dies on January 24, 1895. That same year Anne married to Victor Henry on June 18, 1895, maybe with the hope of finally having some security and a family of her own. The following year she gives birth to their first child, my great grandfather, Charles Aloysius Henry. The couple has six children in all. Only 3 of which survive to adulthood. The 10 years between the birth of her first child and the death of her 6th child, again, seem to me wrought with tragedy:<br></span></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;">March 26, 1896 - Child #1, Charles Aloysius Henry is born</span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;">December 8, 1897 - Child #2, Mary Anne Henry is born </span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;">April 6, 1899 - Mary Anne dies before her 2nd birthday</span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;">November 14, 1899 - Child #3, Jane Veronica Henry is born</span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;">July 10, 1902 - Child #4, Victory Henry is born</span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;">June 24, 1904 - Child #5, James Henry is born</span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;">July 16, 1905 - James dies shortly after his first birthday.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;">February 7, 1906 - Child #6, Robert Henry is born</span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;">February 10, 1906 - Robert only lives 3 days.</span></li></ul><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Oh but it gets worse. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">On June 23, 1907 her husband, Victor Henry, committed a murder-suicide. Being widowed with 3 small children (Charles 11, Jane 7, and Victor 4) would be hard enough but add to that the shame of losing a husband to suicide in a very public display must have been a horrendous weight to bear. To make matters even worse, Victor's victim was Anne's
first cousin, her Uncle Charles Hinch's daughter, Mary Ann Hinch-Cassidy. Scandalous articles appear in local papers speculating that Victor was enamored with the Widow Cassidy if not outright having an affair with her. Mary Ann's death also left 3 orphaned children.<br></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Anne had to find someway to financially support herself and her three children. A story shared by my grandmother's cousins was that initially she put her children into an orphanage. Where ever this home for children was, it was located near a beach. Charles, being the oldest child, saw that his siblings weren't being properly fed at this facility, so he would hide food from his lunch in his pockets, take it out to the beach, and bury it. Later, his siblings would retrieve the food so they would have something to eat. Anna learned of this and immediately brought her children home. She took on odd jobs, mostly cleaning for people. At one point she worked at Aquaduct Raceway in Queens cleaning at what is a pretty well know horse racing track. She also took in foster children which I am sure came with some money from the state as it still does today. In several census records I saw children other than her own living with Anne.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">In the 1915 NY State Census, Anne had 6 children living with her; the three that we know are her biological children and Joseph (age 3), Frank (age 1), and Antonio (age 1) all listed as with the surname Henry. In the 1920 U.S. Census she had three "foundlings" in her care; George Hula age 4, and twin girls age 2, Marah and Mary Gericie. In 1930, Victor is the only one of Anna's children still living with her but they also had an 8 year-old "boarder" named Edward Reed.<br><br>My Great Uncle Bobby told me Edward died of appendicitis while in Anna's care. He recalled that his grandma, Anne, took Eddie to the doctor's office with terrible stomach pain and the doctor dismissed his ailment as an act; that Eddie's was just trying to get out of going to school. Apparently though, he was treated for appendicitis because according to his death certificate, Edward Reed died on December 7, 1937 at the age of 16 at Jamaica Hospital of gangrene following an appendectomy conducted on November 19, 1937. He is buried with Anne at St. John's Cemetery in Queens, NY. Anna signed his death certificate as his guardian and Uncle Bobby recalled Anne was devastated with grief at Eddie's death.<br><br>Edward, George, Marah, Mary, Joseph, Frank, and Antonio are just the 7 foster children I know of; I imagine there were many others.<br><br>Now burying one child is horrific enough, Anne buried 3 of her own babies and a foster child and goes on to outlive 2 of her own adult children. Both my great grandfather, Charles, and his younger brother Victor predecease their mother. On September 30, 1940, Victor drown at the age of 38, overcome in a storm while fishing with his brother-in-law Clarence Edsall (July 26, 1890 - March 30, 1955). My grandmother recalled the day her Uncle Victor died. She was just 11 when the police arrived at their door in East Hempstead, Long Island, now Uniondale, to inform her father, Charles, that Victor had died. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">My great grandpa, Charles, died on June 14, 1949 at the age of 53 from a rare form of cancer; cancer of the peritoneum. The peritoneum is a thin layer of tissue that lines the abdomen. It is believed he may have developed the cancer because of chemicals he was exposed to while carrying out his profession as a paint manufacturer.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Although I did not know my Great-great Grandmother, I know Anne must have
been a strong woman with a gentle heart. She seems to have showered great kindness on the unfortunate, even though she herself was likely viewed as unfortunate. That's a nice legacy to leave behind; to survive strife and help others to do the same.</span></p>Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391173177253541435noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-421944383866797753.post-62706335874880030312022-12-12T18:22:00.000-05:002022-12-12T18:22:40.559-05:0052 Ancestors Challenge Week 50: "Traditions" - Record Your Personal Traditions<p><span style="font-family: arial;">This theme had me a bit stumped and so I reached out to my friends and family via FaceBook to see if they had any ideas about traditions in our family. My Cousin Joan reminded me that I personally have a tradition of taking most of my younger cousins, and a few friends' kids, on road trips when they turned 15 or 16. It's not that I had forgotten about that, its just didn't strike me as a family tradition related to genealogy but it absolutely is! </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Perhaps it didn't dawn on me to write about it because it is not about my ancestors, it's present day, well, maybe not exactly present day. I took my first trip with Cousin Meghan in July of 2003, nearly 20 years ago. These are events, though, that I created and that happened in my own life, not that of my ancestors.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I just recently gave a presentation at the Montauk Library on collecting oral histories from family members. That is a truly critical part of genealogy research because someday each of us will pass away and with us will go all the memories we hold. Whether those histories are recorded in a written or aural manner doesn't matter too much, as long as they are recorded. In a hundred years, or maybe not even all that far off, some descendant or relative will be struggling to label that photo, or be pouring hours into unpuzzling some family mystery that is no mystery to you, or simply be craving the story only you could tell. So recording your own personal history now, in whatever format, will be an important genealogical resource in the future, if it is preserved. So... Here goes...<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><u>Cousin Meghan to Newport, Rhode Island, July 5-7, 2003 </u></b></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZIetwvISV8tapRwA5OUquTQ0HVYKcldzRy_bVZs3M1Oheheuva7KoY0aIwPAmEccGrqo-KIjd1QdIf7tFvrrNKZMLpy37kjC_eXTcnjmJfFPG_c5i6KdOG_5MMVyMKMJ6lVcRJZIR2k4w_F-zSoHiW8URQoDXHmx3O2YJw_8pJ9fcpLwNXUYLnAV1Tg/s1699/02.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1210" data-original-width="1699" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZIetwvISV8tapRwA5OUquTQ0HVYKcldzRy_bVZs3M1Oheheuva7KoY0aIwPAmEccGrqo-KIjd1QdIf7tFvrrNKZMLpy37kjC_eXTcnjmJfFPG_c5i6KdOG_5MMVyMKMJ6lVcRJZIR2k4w_F-zSoHiW8URQoDXHmx3O2YJw_8pJ9fcpLwNXUYLnAV1Tg/s320/02.jpg" width="320" /></a> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Cousin Megan was the first of my cousins to join me for a special 16th birthday road trip. We went to Newport, Rhode Island and toured the great gold coast mansions and their gardens including the Green Animals location pictured above. Meghan and I are second cousins; we have the same great-grandparents in common.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><u>Cousin Andrew to Hopewell, Virginia and Washington, D.C., July 22-25, 2005</u></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><u><br /></u></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSyTAyPWJqO8rhEO7Mg7lgKJbkA4UwLOT8WmlWbRNzNYnjmU4Crljrnc83Dq8EcvWI1dgvq8qe80Koj6L9QvSDMUqpE438PFuSwy5507OPBBUEIxGZcpNPI5vg4xknLtogqDht3ZE9CGn2bMDc3Hq4dSauAnYRg54NNIEHbs_BI2Cs0d6nZOrXqNEtNw/s1784/04.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1206" data-original-width="1784" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSyTAyPWJqO8rhEO7Mg7lgKJbkA4UwLOT8WmlWbRNzNYnjmU4Crljrnc83Dq8EcvWI1dgvq8qe80Koj6L9QvSDMUqpE438PFuSwy5507OPBBUEIxGZcpNPI5vg4xknLtogqDht3ZE9CGn2bMDc3Hq4dSauAnYRg54NNIEHbs_BI2Cs0d6nZOrXqNEtNw/s320/04.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Cousin Andrew is my first cousin on my father's side of the family. There is a 15 year age gap between me and Andrew. The same distance as there is between me and his father. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">First we stopped in Hopewell, Virginia to visit the newly issued headstone of our great-great-great uncle, Benjamin Franklin Losee, Civil War soldier. Ben died in Point of Rocks, Virginia of dysentery in one of the hospital tents during his service in the Union Army. For over a century his remains laid under a misspelled headstone. I petitioned the government to get that stone replace, and there it stood. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlQT06DoA5Za9vjBfdH33rEGHUczVhDiINXchvgyk38SGO3rh_b76S4JnxrSJ65WrybIE32ub3LSonzFFF8ulCoBrLxlTSdUwZmlkJLL5ezjp6IS59bphM-jRLaY5HuWKcZsUe19cACdP0PpH4W7Dc_6TIrzwjOUTEe3vrrQuvRciao9hvh_1LhL30_w/s1731/03.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1731" data-original-width="1190" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlQT06DoA5Za9vjBfdH33rEGHUczVhDiINXchvgyk38SGO3rh_b76S4JnxrSJ65WrybIE32ub3LSonzFFF8ulCoBrLxlTSdUwZmlkJLL5ezjp6IS59bphM-jRLaY5HuWKcZsUe19cACdP0PpH4W7Dc_6TIrzwjOUTEe3vrrQuvRciao9hvh_1LhL30_w/s320/03.jpg" width="220" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After Hopewell, it was off to D.C., a great location to take kids. I'm not the only one to think that as you can tell by so many of our photos from that trip, the Boy Scout agreed with me. We happened to be there the same week as the National Boy Scouts Jamboree. Boy Scouts were everywhere. We toured all the city monuments at night; boy scouts were there. We went to many of the Smithsonian museums; boy scouts were there. We went to the ESPN Zone - boy scouts, the Navy Museum - boy scouts, the International Spy Museum - boy scouts, Arlington National Cemetery to see the changing of the guard - boy scouts. We capped the trip off with a final stop at Mount Vernon, and as I recall, there were boy scouts there too.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJf4oOYJ7rH1mOpcIft3QvfXHaaAXSHiz5721BTImhvbb4KHkNSEY4TaoYnJgxxhZxwNrlbpm_0m1mZE4NfWIpc4ftcUnOekiX7s1795fGmfoVVbP55Znp-24NkgeumVowaLnUmnnvkCoPx6tQilJY-SDr1euvPbqcbLzLwmeyfjwlxcMTOWEroTQmEQ/s1832/05.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1832" data-original-width="1187" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJf4oOYJ7rH1mOpcIft3QvfXHaaAXSHiz5721BTImhvbb4KHkNSEY4TaoYnJgxxhZxwNrlbpm_0m1mZE4NfWIpc4ftcUnOekiX7s1795fGmfoVVbP55Znp-24NkgeumVowaLnUmnnvkCoPx6tQilJY-SDr1euvPbqcbLzLwmeyfjwlxcMTOWEroTQmEQ/s320/05.jpg" width="207" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><u>Cousin Rachel, Massachusetts, June 30 - July 3, 2006</u></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><u><br /></u></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWS-7hMMlKw7FZ41Ifd_SPSoSvuxbyUyuu00xDCwCAQsVjCSwjfY9pFKdhxdN3ZPrB_g5Nm3B0vMOPQ200VHh2yaaR3KX1I-vxWL5MhP6md4WIrsZzmVdLpONAVptaQ7v0Xr5NYk9r-_oiPWIFl9iIzd83R89QUTsOMH3m6dVwfDZ-jVyHrSJoRHTThg/s1795/06.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1213" data-original-width="1795" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWS-7hMMlKw7FZ41Ifd_SPSoSvuxbyUyuu00xDCwCAQsVjCSwjfY9pFKdhxdN3ZPrB_g5Nm3B0vMOPQ200VHh2yaaR3KX1I-vxWL5MhP6md4WIrsZzmVdLpONAVptaQ7v0Xr5NYk9r-_oiPWIFl9iIzd83R89QUTsOMH3m6dVwfDZ-jVyHrSJoRHTThg/s320/06.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Cousin Rachel and I are also second cousins; our dads' mothers were sisters. When I say my Cousin Rachel and I went to Massachusetts, I mean we went all over Massachusetts. We started at the Dr. Seuss Memorial in Springfield, MA, followed by the Norman Rockwell Museum in Stockbridge, MA, then the Emily Dickinson House in Amherst, Sleepy Hollow Cemetery and the Alcott home in Concord, the House of Seven Gables in Salem, and finally the Fisherman's Memorial in Gloucester.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><u>Cousin Zachary, Baltimore, Maryland & D.C., June 22-25, 2007</u></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfBsP5_ZcvqlmLiqxdEuB8zsC2KV8SlsfFyayEgUUp2ygHhUp5oGdc5CGU5XjStwieVHGSLH6zmX4Oz_nG28Ea9dZ9oYWgzosMh7gwaCfYGuwiweoHLSLYwn1bmOUuGKEWrmd2MBrV0wOiryuECSVPT3j5RUoudZgjrnNAAkncIjud_LARHuEXkMeycw/s1794/07.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1201" data-original-width="1794" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfBsP5_ZcvqlmLiqxdEuB8zsC2KV8SlsfFyayEgUUp2ygHhUp5oGdc5CGU5XjStwieVHGSLH6zmX4Oz_nG28Ea9dZ9oYWgzosMh7gwaCfYGuwiweoHLSLYwn1bmOUuGKEWrmd2MBrV0wOiryuECSVPT3j5RUoudZgjrnNAAkncIjud_LARHuEXkMeycw/s320/07.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Rachel & Meghan's brother Zachary was the next to venture out with me on a road trip. I asked each of them where it was that they wanted to go and like the others, Zach left it up to me. I had enjoyed my trip with Andrew to D.C. so much I thought it would be a good spot for Zach and I too. However, I wanted to something a little different so first Cousin Zach and I hit Baltimore's Inner Harbor. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In Baltimore we saw babe Ruth's Birthplace, looked for Edgar Allen Poe's home, went to Geppi's Entertainment Museum (which no longer exists. It closed in 2018), and the Hard Rock Cafe. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The remainder of our trip was spent in D.C. doing hop-on, hop-off bus tours and sprinting through Smithsonian Museums.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><u>Cousin Ashlee, Pittsburgh, PA and Cleveland, OH, August 15-18, 2008</u></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><u><br /></u></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Of all the cousins I ever traveled with on one of these jaunts, Cousin Ashlee was the only one who when asked for a destination knew right where she wanted to go; the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. It was a lot further than I had taken any of the other cousins but hell, she had a destination and so we went. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3H0rWEjgfrU9-rueDAHHPHNjufl1fBVO8yojBq0XZsueoElIa8T1UJWi6ogpt7ht8ZMuNh_oIDzPPvFr3ZdI1-T1I_ToSNhMkoGe7maGf6S4_qwmdqh63AQevMdIJgUIjLWI3GsWl59xpy8LGjDc1yVLQ0QE7kRoNnz03pxLjRKGAEx6BPtq5SguvtQ/s1800/08.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1183" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3H0rWEjgfrU9-rueDAHHPHNjufl1fBVO8yojBq0XZsueoElIa8T1UJWi6ogpt7ht8ZMuNh_oIDzPPvFr3ZdI1-T1I_ToSNhMkoGe7maGf6S4_qwmdqh63AQevMdIJgUIjLWI3GsWl59xpy8LGjDc1yVLQ0QE7kRoNnz03pxLjRKGAEx6BPtq5SguvtQ/s320/08.jpg" width="210" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Our first stop was at the Church Brew Works in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvannia. Yup that's right, I took a kid to a brewery in a former church. That has sort of set the tone for every trip I have ever taken with Cousin Ashlee who is now traveled with me as an adult on at least four other trips. Four? Montreal, Salem, down to New Orleans, and across Canada, well at least from Toronto to Vancouver. Yeah, that's four.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Once we made it to Cleveland we spent a lot of time in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. On the way back home to New York we stopped in Pittsburgh again to see the Andy Warhol Museum and caught a tour at the Frank Lloyd Wright designed Fallingwater in Mill Run, PA.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwLD4E6fl871G9z0uv_USGQhSQ-aAL_IUzxdvEIvjIYSeX91jJY-YoRpffvPSKuepfcq5Qz_xbTe2m62qfIsVg-effOAyzTv7a_4y2oQEfY46PJ70v3E_Hni6HCXhI6j40IAXMw8w4bmqzJvjzoKjOlK03i9XidOIQ6EKbt7s7BKaPM7S8NY51TLnpVw/s1179/09.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1179" data-original-width="992" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwLD4E6fl871G9z0uv_USGQhSQ-aAL_IUzxdvEIvjIYSeX91jJY-YoRpffvPSKuepfcq5Qz_xbTe2m62qfIsVg-effOAyzTv7a_4y2oQEfY46PJ70v3E_Hni6HCXhI6j40IAXMw8w4bmqzJvjzoKjOlK03i9XidOIQ6EKbt7s7BKaPM7S8NY51TLnpVw/s320/09.jpg" width="269" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><u><span style="font-family: arial;">Cousin Adam, Pennsylvania, </span><span style="font-family: arial;">July 3-6, 2009</span></u></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The following year when it was Cousin Adam's turn to travel with me I suggested returning to PA and seeing some of the sights Ashlee and I did not see. After all I didn't want to do the same trip with each kid and I wanted him to see something different than his brother Andrew had seen with me.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Our trip began in Philadelphia. We made stops at Independence Hall, the steps of the Museum of Art made famous by that scene in Rocky, and then Eastern State Penitentiary. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdGeUtUbGcrt1MiHgfg7c9v1uNEd3pNbJtbbZLhGd91Z1ZCgQKwj7W6xVGPXbawMI0QmALk3WuDXqn4zl7Gumb_tFBU5E97mAUL-aEVkmk1xcp5p2y3RKcKnzGqMAsUzA1V00Dlmm1fpRl4gua6HfT6tDJOhPrs9wzyXyIGntbmwonB1JawCM9RUPVww/s1797/11.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1797" data-original-width="1194" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdGeUtUbGcrt1MiHgfg7c9v1uNEd3pNbJtbbZLhGd91Z1ZCgQKwj7W6xVGPXbawMI0QmALk3WuDXqn4zl7Gumb_tFBU5E97mAUL-aEVkmk1xcp5p2y3RKcKnzGqMAsUzA1V00Dlmm1fpRl4gua6HfT6tDJOhPrs9wzyXyIGntbmwonB1JawCM9RUPVww/s320/11.jpg" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDnuf3wvdNLD5Fw8rkmTg86xxVpQuHehlnpON9dLpDLiDAkvy10yFmX3Q2Jvqga_jkTITFmgs40oQeb_rtvckd-g2ZmA46-e01kYGwn2G2VP5RQUjY0auV8r9_c-4c63HcdtPqgiqQoEkAt8PtU79zyZCJ52E9pK-1vjT1U58poYirVpG88G_d_-LYPA/s1764/10.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1764" data-original-width="1185" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDnuf3wvdNLD5Fw8rkmTg86xxVpQuHehlnpON9dLpDLiDAkvy10yFmX3Q2Jvqga_jkTITFmgs40oQeb_rtvckd-g2ZmA46-e01kYGwn2G2VP5RQUjY0auV8r9_c-4c63HcdtPqgiqQoEkAt8PtU79zyZCJ52E9pK-1vjT1U58poYirVpG88G_d_-LYPA/s320/10.jpg" width="215" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I had never been to the prison museum before but it is one of my very favorites. I recommend it to everyone who heads to Philly. I have been there several times since. Go if you can.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">From Philly we headed west. We went to Gettysburg, Hershey Park, the Antique Auto Museum at Hersey, and the Harley-Davidson Factory in York, PA.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ-x4Dx4pL5vnA8IsYbWo1JIvbowmrCdTFaDk0PcwofZc2YsUag4EqFl8oYccQbfQQbALTL9H8fgqjy2wHZTQKaDL18veL9OdyWgTQGO9K1ZFJv1OHhvIfpqyGBtODA0G4rznh9kzLv08aUiDjG27rUpALuGK4yCfvfqSnRu1fi-bV0oCCxRsPI20HUA/s892/12.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="892" data-original-width="596" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ-x4Dx4pL5vnA8IsYbWo1JIvbowmrCdTFaDk0PcwofZc2YsUag4EqFl8oYccQbfQQbALTL9H8fgqjy2wHZTQKaDL18veL9OdyWgTQGO9K1ZFJv1OHhvIfpqyGBtODA0G4rznh9kzLv08aUiDjG27rUpALuGK4yCfvfqSnRu1fi-bV0oCCxRsPI20HUA/s320/12.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><u><span style="font-family: arial;">Cousin Vanessa, </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Cape May, New Jersey & Washington, D.C., </span><span style="font-family: arial;">August 13-16, 2010</span></u></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzrZsB53BP9MYVM_XLFSjsawOSKRA5b2fApcuLc9VoRlFA8ex_R_HdusT5GI_2zUIIqXok-CLvRjdzvmmuF28hXpczpgRl7ainK6D6LyMN-y5x6dbpSvuuGxtnHzSnwO9gCtGw0-1NPXN5N-Y4BZD10KQFvQQt2_BJrYsEUYso0Q9JULRZqYlgcnPXBg/s1768/13.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1768" data-original-width="1182" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzrZsB53BP9MYVM_XLFSjsawOSKRA5b2fApcuLc9VoRlFA8ex_R_HdusT5GI_2zUIIqXok-CLvRjdzvmmuF28hXpczpgRl7ainK6D6LyMN-y5x6dbpSvuuGxtnHzSnwO9gCtGw0-1NPXN5N-Y4BZD10KQFvQQt2_BJrYsEUYso0Q9JULRZqYlgcnPXBg/s320/13.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Unlike her sister Ashlee, Cousin Vanessa wasn't sure where she wanted to visit either so, like with many of the other cousins I traveled with I decided to take her to D.C. It has a lot of free sites and museums to explore. If it's free, it's for me. But to mix it up just a little bit for both Vanessa and I, I wanted to add in a location neither of us had ever been to so we could share something the others and I had not. So our first stop was Cape May, New Jersey.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">There we did a dolphin cruise which if you ask any of my other traveling cousins will attest to the fact that I am not built for water. That will probably be the only dolphin cruise I ever do.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7UxboopzUqZWKYdaqqBGcSeDyOrHaB1Y0ssK37DlVhFHQje37C9tg69fhcaXHmzDzIsbZn0A-AcgGJsJePvszzJOEBCrxJcalhAOOBwMZUtrFRv-8fzFAt2pUlgg4g3WFMuEvgpFuGeZhkkOP9XjlxM2DJPSJYcoss7-87_f291Y3OxWNUOCYuXuSag/s1776/14.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1204" data-original-width="1776" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7UxboopzUqZWKYdaqqBGcSeDyOrHaB1Y0ssK37DlVhFHQje37C9tg69fhcaXHmzDzIsbZn0A-AcgGJsJePvszzJOEBCrxJcalhAOOBwMZUtrFRv-8fzFAt2pUlgg4g3WFMuEvgpFuGeZhkkOP9XjlxM2DJPSJYcoss7-87_f291Y3OxWNUOCYuXuSag/s320/14.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We did other firsts too, now that I think about it. Cousin Vanessa and I went to the Bureau of Engraving and Printing when we were in D.C. Again, a free experience but we had to be up super early to get online to get tickets for the much coveted tour. No wonder I had never been to it before. Hmm, maybe I was there when I was a girl scout. I can't recall. I know I was there with Vanessa though.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyxBZQDn_TbwbFczT6r4GTDeedo-xdk8wvH-gRgCqJ5G-Qmq2OJqJrwbe-2jXD_m2eMJoYdNSv621FeNOLrCZdzed9R49xi5thdMYe_A35eYRSn86fpHrM4M9ZK4S_AArpt2zjEB6_TU85KI9cybtY1rMXnbyXLY0TewzlOUUo7rnnRElLNd8h3QU-4A/s1788/15.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1788" data-original-width="1197" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyxBZQDn_TbwbFczT6r4GTDeedo-xdk8wvH-gRgCqJ5G-Qmq2OJqJrwbe-2jXD_m2eMJoYdNSv621FeNOLrCZdzed9R49xi5thdMYe_A35eYRSn86fpHrM4M9ZK4S_AArpt2zjEB6_TU85KI9cybtY1rMXnbyXLY0TewzlOUUo7rnnRElLNd8h3QU-4A/s320/15.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We also visited the Postal Museum, which I had never visited before. We chose that in honor of her Grandpa Stanley who had worked in the U.S. Post Office for a long, long time.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><u>Cousin Elizabeth, Cape Cod, MA and Newport, RI, July 4-7, 2012</u></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Cousin Elizabeth is the youngest of my paternal cousins and so it was kind of meaningful to bring this traveling cousin tradition full circle and take her to Newport, Rhode Island where I had my first cousin birthday trip with Cousin Meghan.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In addition to gold coast mansion tours, we also went out to the very end of Cape Cod, Massachusetts, to Provincetown.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfa3iP-YFniEsRDN5qcjP4Y6Yj5iL5JS1qVyIIGCi_GGC3q5nlW-LmT1BzLFKqZoCZeDGr--7km5Vg2xSRLBIvbaQqewuJBHqS54WNrETpJgNiAI_sEX8N_tgL30-i2CeCOCpMfOHmS5GPSMesuTfK1_MRq0MLgDWKW9McjfBJbva0fQ2RiwN4TIQf5Q/s1781/16.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1781" data-original-width="1188" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfa3iP-YFniEsRDN5qcjP4Y6Yj5iL5JS1qVyIIGCi_GGC3q5nlW-LmT1BzLFKqZoCZeDGr--7km5Vg2xSRLBIvbaQqewuJBHqS54WNrETpJgNiAI_sEX8N_tgL30-i2CeCOCpMfOHmS5GPSMesuTfK1_MRq0MLgDWKW9McjfBJbva0fQ2RiwN4TIQf5Q/s320/16.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We stopped to eat a sandwich in Sandwich, MA where I snapped this photo that still stares at me in my office.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh9AUk5P2-HCC9xiWuz7ulsQybIVVHfZzPp3K8KZyLtJggtF0BqJGjotpQ1VrvjW8cwRNFuOJKw5sxTgfjpy_NcrRpnwnCjOWX5v5JVWi_P8d0jzaLbIABxorTsc-G4cAq_LT5dvdInJ9V50qmsdRSRVJArFnRjJ8tdATxpMrJIKgzYXQ9AybGiFj8HQ/s1758/17.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="1187" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh9AUk5P2-HCC9xiWuz7ulsQybIVVHfZzPp3K8KZyLtJggtF0BqJGjotpQ1VrvjW8cwRNFuOJKw5sxTgfjpy_NcrRpnwnCjOWX5v5JVWi_P8d0jzaLbIABxorTsc-G4cAq_LT5dvdInJ9V50qmsdRSRVJArFnRjJ8tdATxpMrJIKgzYXQ9AybGiFj8HQ/s320/17.jpg" width="216" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We also hunted down the headquarters for the famous TAPS team of Ghost Hunters fame in Warwick, RI.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">One thing that stands out in my mind from this trip is R. Kelly's song, Feelin' on Yo Booty, stuck on replay. Don't ask. Cousin trips get crazy. The other thing that still makes me giggle is Elizabeth asking me why this statue of a water nymph was holding a corn dog. "A corn dog?!?! That's a cattail plant!" Hmm. Cattails do kind of look like corn dogs. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt960zA5S17bwU_otoFS69kqsoUchB-lk3XkAZ_Bp82EHMHTpCGiA523NCrqOxkVRRaNk-6kTCjUIvZ7MzHS1ohsL9z2kMbD_7-N1y4IkalgomhGBwWUQpxzCFqfOmMvNaY0Ag8ki2ULL78CsZllAbDP5yNpx2ygbAGiIMEKvBjD2PNFYD7tDHekXVPg/s1780/18.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1780" data-original-width="1195" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt960zA5S17bwU_otoFS69kqsoUchB-lk3XkAZ_Bp82EHMHTpCGiA523NCrqOxkVRRaNk-6kTCjUIvZ7MzHS1ohsL9z2kMbD_7-N1y4IkalgomhGBwWUQpxzCFqfOmMvNaY0Ag8ki2ULL78CsZllAbDP5yNpx2ygbAGiIMEKvBjD2PNFYD7tDHekXVPg/s320/18.jpg" width="215" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieMvi5-e6jmVpA7Tr46URl9e_tbKRt4eXxBmfTAXGEjlJ8ANV49g7vB8SrQzKrdtT6DpULao5cGt9brEU23ST9uMETB5cJ7ck2SHeXsmXQgXT_WXGdby-pOoyiA0jWgfjgA8A5h6iBZA0-Nen0X7rnmFZkKNXtXYLiLCr39R9C2UWQPg5Z388x4ZeA_A/s1762/19.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1762" data-original-width="1186" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieMvi5-e6jmVpA7Tr46URl9e_tbKRt4eXxBmfTAXGEjlJ8ANV49g7vB8SrQzKrdtT6DpULao5cGt9brEU23ST9uMETB5cJ7ck2SHeXsmXQgXT_WXGdby-pOoyiA0jWgfjgA8A5h6iBZA0-Nen0X7rnmFZkKNXtXYLiLCr39R9C2UWQPg5Z388x4ZeA_A/s320/19.jpg" width="215" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Like Elizabeth Shown Mills's FAN method, which stands for Friends, Associates, and Neighbors, I've included "like family" kids into my road trip adventures. When researching your family history it isn't just relatives by blood that have details about your ancestors' lives. Those people had contemporaries too who they spent time with and who might have actually known them better than their own family members.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><u>Miss Nicole, Philadelphia, PA, August 22-25, 2015</u></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Miss Nicole is the daughter of my very best friend from my undergraduate days at community college. Her mother and I met in art history class and have been friends every since, nearing 30 years now. Hard to believe.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Nicole had heard of all my road trip adventures with my young cousins so I promised her when she was old enough I would take her on a road trip adventure sans parents. We could do whatever she wanted to do; stay up late, eat crap, flirt with boys, whatever.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">She and I headed down to Philadelphia for an excursion much like the one I had with Cousin Adam but much more concentrated on Philly.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We did make a visit to Eastern State Penitentiary. I couldn't help it. I love that place. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIyZAAcfLInl1nmpJloXvW0tRjlGmaSAtJ5v4AQOiq6cRz9-M8xMFLburyZZ7f_gAVpVY8FkqWK685m2Vy1v6vLTPJs0IXy2X18PVEYThd3ZTJsia1NMr18aGCuMtxzAi46OasDWmCsliNlCIC8rum1WP_oIVghkqhLQW64Fc8I3lBFB_2I25W-unvNw/s1152/25.jpg" style="font-family: arial; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="864" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIyZAAcfLInl1nmpJloXvW0tRjlGmaSAtJ5v4AQOiq6cRz9-M8xMFLburyZZ7f_gAVpVY8FkqWK685m2Vy1v6vLTPJs0IXy2X18PVEYThd3ZTJsia1NMr18aGCuMtxzAi46OasDWmCsliNlCIC8rum1WP_oIVghkqhLQW64Fc8I3lBFB_2I25W-unvNw/s320/25.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We visited Independence Hall as well and made sure to ring that Liberty Bell. (Ya can't really touch it but you can act like to you're going to.)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIp553yZxK9NZteOXMERcxC6uGa2eYLDgASRTqrGvqMBxiBAreZ93tVi0xnaVZ8GuQ6dbYlfDkddXKjbpevSM8lq2w5NnpPSZpcA5OMQXaiWzrBcQUdJ1FjinVOab2CP04YDGrNPGMyylWH6yScpa7L_huL73fTSBoZLGOEG18YSFTH5MDGIgEX9LbLQ/s1152/27.jpg" style="font-family: arial; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="864" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIp553yZxK9NZteOXMERcxC6uGa2eYLDgASRTqrGvqMBxiBAreZ93tVi0xnaVZ8GuQ6dbYlfDkddXKjbpevSM8lq2w5NnpPSZpcA5OMQXaiWzrBcQUdJ1FjinVOab2CP04YDGrNPGMyylWH6yScpa7L_huL73fTSBoZLGOEG18YSFTH5MDGIgEX9LbLQ/s320/27.jpg" width="240" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbLwwbsvf6xovV3QMWYrJQr_CEW_hXSgZmS9wQ8wcaGHwD9glypazB_aJxr9lLewQMeQAxXwnTR82kS6S3o0aGbX_wAJp3R1zxmwzXw7-U_UCaBWGEVhI2dw94PMFbmNwiqSiif9ZfcfcqDffas3OIU4YjVdkYKP30K_7sTjqk6gU8f-z2JTfDWRnIGQ/s1152/28.jpg" style="font-family: arial; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="864" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbLwwbsvf6xovV3QMWYrJQr_CEW_hXSgZmS9wQ8wcaGHwD9glypazB_aJxr9lLewQMeQAxXwnTR82kS6S3o0aGbX_wAJp3R1zxmwzXw7-U_UCaBWGEVhI2dw94PMFbmNwiqSiif9ZfcfcqDffas3OIU4YjVdkYKP30K_7sTjqk6gU8f-z2JTfDWRnIGQ/s320/28.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">After gorging ourselves on cheesesteaks, we went to see one of the locations used for the film <i>The Sixth Sense</i>. Set in Philadelphia, the main character, Cole, seeks sanctuary inside this church, St. Augustine's, where he chats with Bruce Willis's character, Dr. Malcom Crowe. Great movie. You have to see it if you haven't. Cole sees dead people!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj73JBubmx_qyxn4xuPkj-lwVtJ3NAxtQbp_OxG_QxNsRt0eKoPRacqkXy4_zruI9-yU6QXFxrUHvG7MANB2ct65fwBiLWA3ntGarpbWOGZuUQacJKxFLBGjYG9RrHagyhcUcLfNx8dADZtE3wGTpurYRXNZQEnNXjAFtAyb6Z8s1ychyDHkeKqpFqGew/s1152/26.jpg" style="font-family: arial; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="864" data-original-width="1152" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj73JBubmx_qyxn4xuPkj-lwVtJ3NAxtQbp_OxG_QxNsRt0eKoPRacqkXy4_zruI9-yU6QXFxrUHvG7MANB2ct65fwBiLWA3ntGarpbWOGZuUQacJKxFLBGjYG9RrHagyhcUcLfNx8dADZtE3wGTpurYRXNZQEnNXjAFtAyb6Z8s1ychyDHkeKqpFqGew/s320/26.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The furthest we got west of Philly was to Hershey Park. It's not a road trip with a kid if there isn't some excessive regional candy present. This was the first time I got to make my own candy bar at Hersey's.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzefEO74MusdC2gdDkEotVZlv287LVDIhREUT8O0ejK0My4-ATFRh5gYfHLSzaep5rgGPKMIQhdGPDyhRTmSNJCJZRIL8jlyfun12h1uePwnGdbJaLR-5uDaYix6VmN8lr86O9a542koDJkdG9b4dX-PZVrx_kGz979ynmskCyVGuJsy-zaBY_aB-ffg/s1152/30.jpg" style="font-family: arial; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="864" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzefEO74MusdC2gdDkEotVZlv287LVDIhREUT8O0ejK0My4-ATFRh5gYfHLSzaep5rgGPKMIQhdGPDyhRTmSNJCJZRIL8jlyfun12h1uePwnGdbJaLR-5uDaYix6VmN8lr86O9a542koDJkdG9b4dX-PZVrx_kGz979ynmskCyVGuJsy-zaBY_aB-ffg/s320/30.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><u>Master Laszlo, Buffalo, NY & Toronto, Ontario, Canada, June 27-30 2019</u></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Speaking of excessive regional candy...</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Nicole's younger brother has traveled with me too. He had a destination in mind, though, which I love and of course had to honor. With his parents permission he was the first and only kid I have taken to a foreign country. Laszlo wanted to go to Toronto! YES! Canada!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I was game. I had never really been there before unless you count sitting in the Toronto airport waiting 45 minutes for a terrible hamburger. Ugh.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAUYnB7QvU9yQtJo8BbqnfYiorAqXWRui_pQ9OQAtbWos-kU39yaDkVPKg0jkBCjh72AOhEU9NviTT0SQ0mzp5WlILLSZibZHqocFMfNU_XvZ0lWtSwxNsoBvlVm_40cIi2K_wfciAMuo_nwPppBoKsStmYU-IRb7jt9NcrfsVaDpexzIcE_IlJm7i9Q/s1920/21.jpg" style="font-family: arial; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1920" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAUYnB7QvU9yQtJo8BbqnfYiorAqXWRui_pQ9OQAtbWos-kU39yaDkVPKg0jkBCjh72AOhEU9NviTT0SQ0mzp5WlILLSZibZHqocFMfNU_XvZ0lWtSwxNsoBvlVm_40cIi2K_wfciAMuo_nwPppBoKsStmYU-IRb7jt9NcrfsVaDpexzIcE_IlJm7i9Q/s320/21.jpg" width="320" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXU0D7qtk-zJ8P--tMC7-bCEaL-aTzHoQmtMSClqAyK-SsOyMcLdR41mqzXUBlaij8HMZkrZiFU9yE-RNTTh1OfaRVsIj0Pe3yv3rJrfwY4U24wPPioTx1FgY1xnOAhIlxX6k6XYejsjBr1MBTNlkTTHFuUWRRTR3xMB6el99_cgfDnCWg1vJZ8MtNBw/s1816/20.jpg" style="font-family: arial; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1244" data-original-width="1816" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXU0D7qtk-zJ8P--tMC7-bCEaL-aTzHoQmtMSClqAyK-SsOyMcLdR41mqzXUBlaij8HMZkrZiFU9yE-RNTTh1OfaRVsIj0Pe3yv3rJrfwY4U24wPPioTx1FgY1xnOAhIlxX6k6XYejsjBr1MBTNlkTTHFuUWRRTR3xMB6el99_cgfDnCWg1vJZ8MtNBw/s320/20.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">After a quick stop in Buffalo to have some wings with my Cousin Lisa and her family, Laszlo and I made it to Niagara Falls, Ontario where we experienced every Canadian candy the gift shop had to offer while looking at the falls from our hotel room. Nice view, right?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5QZAVJIXO8yRyMhSSnoMyGajabl5C6oyryWqfs3ddXoOwGWLmYec3UitzkKI_0b7-WwXmU2J3jJcyoV2WOJ-QSmktWGlMikJnmEm7gEm0bClb7qgt426pIayfof1SmQOF2hfqs9dkUp3JOr52OYBxf6hkJ7qMDvKotny34hvAI8gao3FQ5OAb6u2E-Q/s2048/22.jpg" style="font-family: arial; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5QZAVJIXO8yRyMhSSnoMyGajabl5C6oyryWqfs3ddXoOwGWLmYec3UitzkKI_0b7-WwXmU2J3jJcyoV2WOJ-QSmktWGlMikJnmEm7gEm0bClb7qgt426pIayfof1SmQOF2hfqs9dkUp3JOr52OYBxf6hkJ7qMDvKotny34hvAI8gao3FQ5OAb6u2E-Q/s320/22.jpg" width="240" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAjVgkJ2WprpN47v-LcUlgiq98BX6hTKmEQv7k_rM9cJuzdEj5yvDqkn4VPLdTuLSN6ebwqh9XpzOKM12rZ3M747JDhBRMoBoqN5OgIyyoLso1XzkG347WTeHb62vpa-SZX7aUit0vs7aVOVgDpKAvTc37-ya5rhFFXc5G-gDJ-XUG_US74Jxnbw9hBA/s2048/23.jpg" style="font-family: arial; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAjVgkJ2WprpN47v-LcUlgiq98BX6hTKmEQv7k_rM9cJuzdEj5yvDqkn4VPLdTuLSN6ebwqh9XpzOKM12rZ3M747JDhBRMoBoqN5OgIyyoLso1XzkG347WTeHb62vpa-SZX7aUit0vs7aVOVgDpKAvTc37-ya5rhFFXc5G-gDJ-XUG_US74Jxnbw9hBA/s320/23.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">From there we headed up to Toronto for a full day in the city. At his request I stomached my crippling fear of heights and ventured up to the top of the CN Tower. I've actually have done that twice now. Once was enough really.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghiRCqrI9ZjKKDVFDOvoDdOoCiqhHFV835eSjpVr93x2heKjPMqY94p3iWotepvBWoTkXZXBTpLX2fkAfp2h1W-NXDW1XgUPMBc3JZ5XaDgK-1vXkdW9BBV7l7c9LeIVSdJ-KmKWkFjmdbW4ckxA2dw4tNLOqoXwrxPJLM01F3WHYhr4vnCfNUycKB4g/s1440/31.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghiRCqrI9ZjKKDVFDOvoDdOoCiqhHFV835eSjpVr93x2heKjPMqY94p3iWotepvBWoTkXZXBTpLX2fkAfp2h1W-NXDW1XgUPMBc3JZ5XaDgK-1vXkdW9BBV7l7c9LeIVSdJ-KmKWkFjmdbW4ckxA2dw4tNLOqoXwrxPJLM01F3WHYhr4vnCfNUycKB4g/s320/31.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">For the long drive back to NY, we made a stop in Corning, NY - gotta have something to do on the way back - and went to the Corning Glass Museum. I love it there too. Laszlo got to make his own art glass piece which was very cool.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw7fffE2g_tdlypnOUCUmEc3JzjVs1CEnYQEDOhOmOU2j3cAlGx6hYYiAZL7PytbzTe_wVXkgsTNfbMicAAeTwwpDsSY3LTQwd0oG0nkTdNFL2Qy9aXKNRVZ-HspZaA9sOi0ofWBajCQaQdfJuhvMLWex-5LlvEmXXC5b9-MVNAkJZUFCj9vS-ylAmWw/s2048/24.jpg" style="font-family: arial; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw7fffE2g_tdlypnOUCUmEc3JzjVs1CEnYQEDOhOmOU2j3cAlGx6hYYiAZL7PytbzTe_wVXkgsTNfbMicAAeTwwpDsSY3LTQwd0oG0nkTdNFL2Qy9aXKNRVZ-HspZaA9sOi0ofWBajCQaQdfJuhvMLWex-5LlvEmXXC5b9-MVNAkJZUFCj9vS-ylAmWw/s320/24.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">And that is the history of my road trip adventures with teenagers. Maybe I will someday add to this when my nieces turn teens.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Family history is perishable. It disappears as minds soften, memories fade, and loved ones pass away. Preserving a record of the present or somewhat recent past is a truly an important part of family history. Preserve your personal story now for future generations of your family to help know and understand you and the life you led.</span></div><p></p>Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391173177253541435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-421944383866797753.post-90605192502184487082022-12-05T08:28:00.001-05:002022-12-12T18:22:23.925-05:0052 Ancestors Challenge Week 49: "New Horizons" - Street Name Change<span style="font-family: arial;">I am an academic librarian at Farmingdale State College, a college of technology in the State University of New York (SUNY) system on Long Island, NY. Back on June 1, 2022, I received a call from the local public library that they received an inquiry regarding the families from whom the State had purchased the property on which to establish our school back in 1912. So I went poking around to discover the names of Richard Smith Mott (April 17, 1851 - June 26, 1916), Ezekiel Ketcham Smith (October 1, 1840 - January 1, 1920) and Judson Floyd Ruland (March 8, 1952 - January 1, 1925).</span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">They weren't the only three landowners but their farms comprised the majority of the land on which our school still exists; the Mott farm was 167 acres, the Smith farm 45 acres, and the Ruland farm 50 acres. The additional land was formerly owned by Molly May Lazarus (17.5 acres), Timothy Terry (14 acres), John C. Merritt (10 acres), Zachariah P. Henderson (4.5 acres), and Mary Seaman (1.38 acres) for a total campus size of about 333 acres to be used as an agricultural school. It should be noted here that most of those former landowners have old Long Island surnames. Lots of nearby towns and roads share those names - towns like Smithtown and Terryville.</span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Being a public historian with genealogical inclinations, I went looking to learn more about the lives of these individuals that once owned the College's property. Obituaries are always a wealth of information but I did not anticipate what I found. (Transcription beneath the image).</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp8VuPwtvVlDsftKGi6BQimydW8WdvkmGos06_1rHDv32Gq8gBhiFODDZ-1qgLMBHGbAYyA6_PTjdzj5NWzGUtnOs6sx5Ioo4_EUrJxMXUBo3UGtYQFokmimqQADbxexgj2VUW_4I2Z8IBQJ3-pcRptWJj5ZRSCfYex1aEwRZV9I0cHAlkrFxur78l6Q/s673/ruland%20obit%20pt.1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="673" data-original-width="329" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp8VuPwtvVlDsftKGi6BQimydW8WdvkmGos06_1rHDv32Gq8gBhiFODDZ-1qgLMBHGbAYyA6_PTjdzj5NWzGUtnOs6sx5Ioo4_EUrJxMXUBo3UGtYQFokmimqQADbxexgj2VUW_4I2Z8IBQJ3-pcRptWJj5ZRSCfYex1aEwRZV9I0cHAlkrFxur78l6Q/w312-h640/ruland%20obit%20pt.1.jpg" width="312" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTQQxo9KH7IIojPVOIRJkyESwTNpCgBtIVgKf57HHjr4xb0wpwsDvKPchzoX0JcFYe1yn4BwD6xd-yiv3FeY9uksv_wP3TIGGuAJMZQ2COpl7mpdVNtD_cH5swUeaPia3cx-wgFVmmjtCx6lymRJb2VRb9rqIXBokLEXaqblGY3kINSOyRKLOH7SpEGA/s761/ruland%20obit%20pt.2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="761" data-original-width="329" height="721" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTQQxo9KH7IIojPVOIRJkyESwTNpCgBtIVgKf57HHjr4xb0wpwsDvKPchzoX0JcFYe1yn4BwD6xd-yiv3FeY9uksv_wP3TIGGuAJMZQ2COpl7mpdVNtD_cH5swUeaPia3cx-wgFVmmjtCx6lymRJb2VRb9rqIXBokLEXaqblGY3kINSOyRKLOH7SpEGA/w311-h721/ruland%20obit%20pt.2.jpg" width="311" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></div><blockquote><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Judson Rouland (sic) Buried at Farmingdale</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">That faithfulness brings forth a just reward was demonstrated at Farmingdale Sunday afternoon, when such a large gathering from all over Nassau County and the western section of Suffolk County assembled to pay their last respects to Klansman Judson Rouland, that it needed four members of the New York State Police to direct traffic at the church and at the Lower Melville Cemetery, where he was finally laid at rest.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Mr. Rouland, who was 72 years of age, died on New Year's morning of apoplexy, after a short illness. Not only was he a faithful Klansman, but he was a member of the Farmingdale Methodist Episcopal Church all his lifetime, and a member of the Executive Board for the past eighteen years, He is survived by a widow, who is his second wife, and several children. </span></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><span style="font-family: arial;">It was decided on Friday to hold a Klan funeral and word was immediately passed along to the Klans for several miles in all directions, with the result that Sunday afternoon over 200 Klansmen, in robes, but not masked, gathered at his home, from Babylon, Lindenhurst, Seaford, Freeport, Roosevelt, Valley Stream, Hempstead, Hicksville, Huntington and Port Washington. </span></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><span style="font-family: arial;">After a short prayer at the house, by the Rev. Fred Wilcox, pastor of the Methodist Church, the remains were removed to the hearse by robed Klansmen, six in number, acting as pall bearers, and the entire Klan delegation, led by the Hempstead Klan, with their color bearer, carrying the American flag, and their cross bearer, escorted their comrade to the Methodist Church where, throughout the entire service, the flag bearer stood at the head of the casket and the cross bearer at the foot. There was also a guard of honor consisting of Dr. William H. Kingston, Exalted Cyclops of the Farmingdale Klan; Paul W. F. Lindner, Exalted Cyclops of the Hempstead Klan, and a third Exalted Cyclops, whose name could not be ascertained. </span></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><span style="font-family: arial;">At the close of the church service, which was also presided over by the Rev. Mr. Wilcox, the Klansmen accompanied the cortage (sic) to the grave at the Lower Melville Cemetery. It was at this place that the most of the Klan ceremonies were held. </span></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><span style="font-family: arial;">As the pallbearers bore their comrade to the grave in the center of the cemetery, taps was sounded by a bugler, and when the casket was lowered a quartet of Klansmen sang "The Old Rugged Cross." At the close of the prayer by the Rev. Mr. Wilcox, a solitary Klansmen stood on guard over his comrade's grave. </span></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><span style="font-family: arial;">He was seen to lean over a miniture (sic) cross that had been placed at the foot of the grave and the next second the blaze flared up, enveloping the entire cross. The guarding Klansman remained like a statue, at Klan attention with arms crossed, until the cross had burned out, when he came to Klan salute and departed.</span></div></blockquote><div><span style="font-family: arial;">I was disturbed to say the least. Now Judson Ruland does not appear to have held any leadership positions in the KKK, as did Paul Lindner who was the Cyclops (chapter president) of the Hempstead KKK. A road in the Village of Malverne, NY named after Lindner was recently renamed after a petition was put forth by a group of high school students. There was clearly no shame in proclaiming Judson was a member, though. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">You'll note the misspelling of his surname in the article; Rouland instead of Ruland. I think it is just a typo but I do wonder if it was done intentionally; perhaps to disassociate the individual from his family name. As you will note it does not name his wife or offspring; unusual for an obituary.<br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">There is a road named after Ruland on the boarder between Melville and Farmingdale; an east to west road between Route 110 (also known as Broadhollow Road) and Pinelawn Road that leads to what was once the northeast corner of his property. Judson Ruland purchased the land on May 14, 1888 from Jesse N. Seaman and sold it to the State for the purpose of our College in late 1913; for 25 years Ruland owned 50 acres that he sold to the State 110 years ago. That's all. He is not a historical figure in the annals of our community. He was an ordinary resident who is on the wrong side of our history.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Discovering this, I instantly felt the compulsion to get this history recognized and that street name changed. The values upheld by the Klan do not reflect the values of the present-day community; nor should they have ever in my opinion. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">That organization teaches hate, pure and simple. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">I believe that doing nothing about what you know to be a disgrace is silently approving. So I wrote a letter to the Town of Huntington asking for the road to be renamed. They listened to me but it turns out it is a county road so now it is a project for Suffolk County to address. They too seem on board with making the change. At present the story has been picked up by several news sources both local and regional; <i>The Long Island Press</i>, News12, <i>Newsday</i>, CBS News, ABC7 New York, radio and other online community outlets. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">For those out there who want to say that what I am doing is erasing our history, and there are several, I don't want to hear it. I have not erased anything. I cannot erase something that you didn't know. The obituary is still right where I found it. I am shining a light on that history; trying to make everyone aware of the existence and history of racial discrimination on Long Island. The Klan doesn't just hate blacks, they hate minorities of all ilk, immigrants, Jews, Catholics, etc. They burned a cross at his grave. Mr. Ruland was not a historical figure. No one knew who the road was named after. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Besides, you can count on one hand how many homes are on the road. It is mostly industrial. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Just change it. Do better.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">That being said, I do have concerns for those who live and work on that road who will hassle with needing to have their addresses updated everywhere but I believe when most of them learn the history behind that name, they too will be happy to see the change. In fact, I have heard from residents who have said as much. <br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">I do have concerns for descendants of Judson Ruland as well and I started to wonder what their reactions would be to learning this detail about their ancestor if they did not already know. So, again, I went looking. Not with the intention of contacting them but just for the awareness of how many this change might directly impact. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Judson Ruland had nine children. Not all of them lived long enough to procreate. Of the seven who lived to adulthood, it seem very few of them had offspring.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">When I went looking for his daughter, Jane Belle Ruland, on Ancestry, I was dismayed to find the top user created family tree containing her name was, indeed, my very own tree. No shit! Jane Ruland married into my family. Her husband's great grandparents - Uriah Smith (about 1785 - before 1829) and Elizabeth Raynor-Smith (1790 - July 20, 1855) - are my 5th great grandparents. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">I was beyond shocked because here I had been researching this person for months never once considering I'd have any connection to his family.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">I was able to confirm Judson Ruland's descendants and I are related through a DNA match. Yes, I have a DNA match to Judson Ruland's great grandchild. It is a small match, 10 centimorgans (cMs), but other known relatives of mine who have also tested their DNA also match that Ruland descendant; my father (42 cMs), my uncle (33 cMs), my sister (21 cMs), 2 of my first cousins (33 cMs & 31 cMs), & a second cousin (22 cMs). It is not "Ruland" DNA, its Raynor-Smith DNA, but they are Judson Ruland's descendants nonetheless and they are my cousins.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Does this change my perspective on renaming that road?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">No.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">DNA does not cause one to be a racist, of course. Racism is a learned behavior. I mean, sure sometimes you could learn it from your family but it really comes from the environment you are surrounded by; your friends, </span><span style="font-family: arial;">your associates,</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> your neighbors, etc. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Were there other klansmen in the neighborhood? </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Of course! 200 hundred of them showed up for the funeral.<br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">But in my 35+ years of doing genealogy research, I have read hundreds, if not thousands of obituaries and I have never seen one like that before.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">It is not my desire to bring shame to that family name. It is just time we do better. Judson Ruland owned a farm for 25 years, he sold it nearly 110 years ago, and the road leading to his once farm has held his name for far too long. He's been dead nearly 98 years. He didn't even live on that road or own property on it, it just lead to his farm. Just rename it.<br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Just do better!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">So unless you live on that road, own a business on that road, have the last name Ruland, or are a descendant of Judson himself, expressing your disdain for me voicing my discovery falls on deaf ears here. Express your feelings to the representatives in office. Maybe they can stop what I have put in motion. Rest assured, they won't.</span></div></div>Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391173177253541435noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-421944383866797753.post-80721885486610383502022-11-28T08:35:00.000-05:002022-11-28T08:35:46.037-05:0052 Ancestors Challenge Week 48: "Overlooked" - Uncle Allen's Thrift Store Find<p><span style="font-family: arial;">Just recently, the craziest thing happened. Something that could have been overlooked or ignored wasn't. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">My Uncle Allen loves to go to thrift stores. Loves it! He has several that he frequents. Just this past summer he went to one he hadn't visited before. There he saw a thin book that stood out to him because of the title; <i>Southside Burial Ground, Ozone Park, NY</i>, published in 1996. Allen's maternal grandparents, my great-grandparents, Charles Henry (March 26, 1896 - June 14, 1949) and Anna Sauer-Henry-Stoothoff (July 19, 1899 - May 8, 1986), grew up in Ozone Park, Queens County, New York and only moved to Nassau County, New York after they were married.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Charles died young; he was just 53 when he passed away in 1949 from peritoneal cancer, a rare form of cancer of the stomach lining. His widow, Anna, eventually remarried on October 7, 1963 to Frank W. Stoothoff (February 21, 1903 - September 17, 1993), her first husband's cousin. Oh yes, that's right; as if my tree wasn't messy enough. My step-great-grandfather was also my first cousin 3 times removed. Charles Henry's mother Annette Hinch-Henry (February 22, 1868 - March 2, 1952) was the younger sister of Frank Stoothoff's mother, Sarah Bridget Hinch-Stoothoff-Rhodes (July 25, 1873 - January 4, 1965).</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">When Uncle Allen came upon that book in the thrift store he immediately thought that I would love the book because it was about Ozone Park but he put it down. "Ah, I'm not gonna get it." He then continued to walk around the shop for a long time but before leaving he was drawn back to the book and decided to flip through it and stumbled upon the name Stoothoff in the text. He thought, "Well hot damn, I'm gonna get it for her." I don't know if he said hot damn but I imagine he did. He would say something like that.<br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNKD8A-ljEEigufXW7gNFXuoMNMGk2_EXsKUZ2zxqXnslNNeFLWiB8zEuwhIQ7EUSNjkmJCQPxIl8Ph1n9JhGJ_RSk6A_eFy6KWth1m9SsHPgkxmmTh10eFE0L6BaHZCj0XU1mBaoolOMhzq2MISimMrm6wsh_gTdH0Fk310f5fWJKmFXoRLXQZuKBMg/s3225/southside%20burial%20ground%20cover.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3225" data-original-width="2481" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNKD8A-ljEEigufXW7gNFXuoMNMGk2_EXsKUZ2zxqXnslNNeFLWiB8zEuwhIQ7EUSNjkmJCQPxIl8Ph1n9JhGJ_RSk6A_eFy6KWth1m9SsHPgkxmmTh10eFE0L6BaHZCj0XU1mBaoolOMhzq2MISimMrm6wsh_gTdH0Fk310f5fWJKmFXoRLXQZuKBMg/w246-h320/southside%20burial%20ground%20cover.jpg" width="246" /></a></span></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">When he gave it to me, we sat and talked about the Stoothoffs for a bit. My grandma wasn't particularly fond of her step-father but I am not entirely sure why. About 10 years ago or so, when my grandmother's memory was still a bit intact, we visited with some of her Stoothoff cousins, June and Dorothea McCowen. Their mother was Frank Stoothoff's sister, Ann Elizabeth Stoothoff-McCowen (June 20, 1895 - July 30, 1988). Their mother was actually named after my great-great grandmother, her aunt, Annette "Ann" Hinch-Henry, mentioned above. Anyway...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">As soon as I got to June and Dorothea's house, one of them, I'm not sure who, told me that I looked like a Hinch. I look like my grandmother so, if grandma looks like a Hinch, then I do too. During that visit the sisters bestowed a photograph to me of my great-great grandma, Annette. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdmhi0vH77qVjEuZJqwCMgTU7R6oW_ZSUp1b_LbvK-b7tZ4NZ6vt4M3kI_daHVxfh9CQAKOHpOOQ4WoYYijvq4ERzFBPQ843QgbtYO5qpEIHM63xOfnEUw0F4bAmAvtQhJTNFYHdMFJ-05sIpEdmXk9IdezL991wkFvBR8VlP9MDuxuNY8KZuqTtz0XA/s1949/hinch%20family%20photos_0001.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1949" data-original-width="1269" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdmhi0vH77qVjEuZJqwCMgTU7R6oW_ZSUp1b_LbvK-b7tZ4NZ6vt4M3kI_daHVxfh9CQAKOHpOOQ4WoYYijvq4ERzFBPQ843QgbtYO5qpEIHM63xOfnEUw0F4bAmAvtQhJTNFYHdMFJ-05sIpEdmXk9IdezL991wkFvBR8VlP9MDuxuNY8KZuqTtz0XA/w416-h640/hinch%20family%20photos_0001.jpg" width="416" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p><span style="font-family: arial;">She looks like Julia Roberts, doesn't she? But if Hinches look like Julia Roberts, I sure don't look like one of them. In any case...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">June and Dorothea were very skilled genealogists and proud members of the Woodhaven Cultural & Historical Society. Sadly, Dorothea has passed since our meeting. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">When I sat down to read the book, this is what appeared on the verso (The verso is the back of the title page):</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyQV533JqQtsg8thDz74VjwBMkJCaIxCl9d2fgrBsY556Mege8ZnPUTpWDc9_ARzvnlvsRxT3T9y1be4825aixARanE8C4_w7DHUAeZJYx7gvUYmdlTs2Cv1DsGmF1CliDVgtaJwJvQsas7usoOMYYKzoggWTC7_gxT99N2NdIP4GnCJgCsQFno56aRQ/s3247/Southside%20burial%20ground%20verso.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3247" data-original-width="2400" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyQV533JqQtsg8thDz74VjwBMkJCaIxCl9d2fgrBsY556Mege8ZnPUTpWDc9_ARzvnlvsRxT3T9y1be4825aixARanE8C4_w7DHUAeZJYx7gvUYmdlTs2Cv1DsGmF1CliDVgtaJwJvQsas7usoOMYYKzoggWTC7_gxT99N2NdIP4GnCJgCsQFno56aRQ/w474-h640/Southside%20burial%20ground%20verso.jpg" width="474" /></a></span></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Get the hell out of here! I had to tell my Uncle Allen. When he bought it, again, he almost didn't buy it, he had no idea the authors were related to us. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">He and I talked for a bit about freaky things that happen like this and we both entirely believe it is an indication that the souls of those departed are still with us and trying to tell us something. I'm not sure what, but they are afoot, I am sure of it. Something made Allen go back for this book and I am so glad he did.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Thanks, Uncle Al!<br /></span></p><p><br /></p>Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391173177253541435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-421944383866797753.post-1410581870635611162022-11-21T08:30:00.003-05:002022-11-21T08:30:35.000-05:0052 Ancestors Challenge Week 47: "Wrong Side of the Law" - Albert Gardner's Brush with the Law Solidifies Name Changing<p><span style="font-family: arial;">Oh this was tricky topic for me to address. Oh so many to choose from. What's a girl to do? I've got quite a few in my family who have had a brush with the law. <br /></span></p><p><span face="Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif" style="font-family: arial;">When
I started my genealogy research over 30 years ago, I began on my father's
side of the family trying to unpuzzle for myself some of the modern day
connections I did not quite understand. I stayed on that side of the
family for a very long time. I did not truly dig into my mother's
lineage until after my grandpa passed away in 2004; about 18 years ago. </span></p><p><span face="Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif" style="font-family: arial;">That was in part due to the fact my maternal grandmother passed away before I was born so I had almost no source of information for her branch of my tree and my maternal grandfather was very reluctant to speak about his family history. He would answer my questions but I had to be very specific about those questions. </span></p><p><span face="Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif" style="font-family: arial;">I recall one time I asked him if he had any uncles to which he replied, "Oh yeah, sure." </span></p><p><span face="Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif" style="font-family: arial;">Silence. </span></p><p><span face="Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif" style="font-family: arial;">"Um, do you remember their names?" </span></p><p><span face="Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif" style="font-family: arial;">"Yeah" </span></p><p><span face="Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif" style="font-family: arial;">Silence.</span></p><p><span face="Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif" style="font-family: arial;">"What were their names?"</span></p><p><span face="Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif" style="font-family: arial;">"Well, let's see. I had an Uncle Babe and an Uncle Blue-Eyes..."</span></p><p><span face="Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif" style="font-family: arial;">"Grandpa, do you know the names your grandparents gave to your uncles?"</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif">"Hmm. I'm not sure." </span><br />
<span face="Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face="Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif">Another big obstacle in researching my maternal grandfather's branch of my tree has been the fact
that there was a surname change. My Great-great-grandfather, Damas
Desjardins, French-Canadian by birth, Anglicized his name to Thomas
Gardner. I suspect this was in order to obtain more work and avoid
ethnic discrimination. I cannot find anything official about the name
change and back then, before Social Security, it was easier to assume an
identity. Assuming an identity isn't always about evading the authorities.</span><br />
<span face="Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face="Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif">In
some records Damas appears as Damas Desjardins, in others as Thomas
Gardner, in others as Damas Gardner, and still others as Thomas
Desjardins. To make matters even more confusing, his offspring
indiscriminately used either last name as well. His son, my great
grandfather, Almond Desjardins, like his father also chose to use a more
American sounding first name; Albert. Almond, a.k.a. Albert, was indeed born in
the United States; his name just sounded very French.</span><br />
<span face="Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face="Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif">This
flip-flopping of names not only makes constructing searches more challenging, it makes proving anything a daunting task. I often hear myself saying,
"Well, yes, I know it says that but it is the same man." Anything I can
find that helps me to solidify this family's surname change is precious
to me.</span><br />
<span face="Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face="Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif">This branch of the family has also had some run ins with the law
in nearly every generation. Which brings me to an article from the <i>Brooklyn Daily Star</i>
titled "Sing Sing for John Miller: L.I. City Man who Swindled Magnus
Larsen Sent Up on Suspended Sentence - Five Others Given a Chance to
Reform" from December 21, 1907. In it is mentioned Almond Gardner. The
first time I have seen my great grandfather listed with his very
French-sounding birth name and Anglicized surname. In addition to
showing his name in that way, it also documents when the family moved from Queens to Patchogue, Suffolk County, NY.
What a gem of a find!!</span><br />
<span face="Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face="Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif">It reads as follows:</span><br />
</span></p><blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span face="Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif" style="font-family: arial;">"Almond
Gardner, a former Astoria boy whose folks now live at Patchogue, took a
quantity of lead pipe and brass sewer traps from a house belonging to
George B. Ruthman on Main street last November. He is only seventeen
years old and has promised to behave."</span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif">Interestingly
enough, 24 years later, Almond's baby brother, Damas Jr., who might have been Uncle Babe, is also
arrested for burglarizing a house while in his teens. That time, though,
the house was out in Patchoque and Damas Jr. stole an electric pump
with his soon-to-be brother-in-law, Elbert King. I found that in a March
31, 1931 article in the <i>Patchogue Advance</i> titled "Young Men Arrested for Stealing Pump." </span><span face="Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif"><span face="Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif">Tsk, tsk, tsk. What is with these boys?</span> </span><br />
<span face="Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face="Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif">Had
Almond not committed his juvenile crime, though, I might never have had
such concrete proof that he was known by variations of the names Almond
Desjardins and Albert Gardner. Additionally, I knew the family had
moved to Patchoque between the 1900 and 1910 censuses. This article,
though, helps me to narrow the date of the family's move to after
November 1906, when the crime was committed, and before December 1907,
when the article was written.</span></span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Run-ins with the law result in documentation of the on-goings of a family. It's not all bad.<br /><span face="Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif"> </span></span><p><br /></p></div>Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391173177253541435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-421944383866797753.post-25528615428954055072022-11-14T08:27:00.000-05:002022-11-14T08:27:01.990-05:0052 Ancestors Challenge Week 46: "Tombstones" - Perpetual Care<p><span style="font-family: arial;">It is a fairly frequent experience for me to venture out to a cemetery where some relative is interred to find there is no tombstone for them. I find unmarked graves sad and I wish I could afford to mark them all but, damn, headstones are expensive.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Last year I did a presentation for the Allen County Public Library Genealogy Center about a project of mine related to a family tombstone. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nw53oHpcfgA">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nw53oHpcfgA </a></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">In brief, during the pandemic I planned a project to visit all the gravesites of my direct ancestors back to my 3rd great grandparents. In general that could be a total of 2 parents, 4 grandparents, 8 great grandparents,16 great-great grandparents, and 32 3rd great grandparents; a total of 62 souls in all. For me, though, both my parents are living as well as my nonagenarian grandma so I had the potential need to visit 59 graves. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">As a genealogist though, I have already visited many gravesites. After evaluating the "unvisited," my list was whittled down to 30 graves to visit. There are 9 I am still struggling to locate; most on my French Canadian lines, likely all in Quebec. T<span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">hat means I had to visit 21 unvisited gravesites for this project. I determined where I thought each grave was based on death certificates, obituaries, and/or family members. </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">Fourteen of those 21 graves are in 6 cemeteries within the boundaries of the City of New York. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">Do you sense where this is going? </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">Field trip! </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">I visited all 6 of those cemeteries in one crazy day!</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">During our 4th stop in the 2nd cemetery, my cousin Peter and I saw this site in St. John Cemetery in Middle Village, Queens, New York; Section 16, Row A, Grave 403. Can you pick out the grave for my 3rd great grandpa, Victor Henry (March 1838 - November 9, 1896)?</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR2yQ8SNvsyisIJwmIObsVXww1m5iktcdQuV3GqStINFlws4vTzG2plqFxtKOMykUp6-Gf18h2LTv5d53GCXGyauH9Haz5EEPP5R88csIqC0z4ODYlS1sVuc80LVClasrDxg3_NxMgQBQ4tt9DbYuRZMQuCpTzXfnIGtromDHE4yYczX3XFAZYlhdMMA/s2048/victor%20henry%20stone%201.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1636" data-original-width="2048" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR2yQ8SNvsyisIJwmIObsVXww1m5iktcdQuV3GqStINFlws4vTzG2plqFxtKOMykUp6-Gf18h2LTv5d53GCXGyauH9Haz5EEPP5R88csIqC0z4ODYlS1sVuc80LVClasrDxg3_NxMgQBQ4tt9DbYuRZMQuCpTzXfnIGtromDHE4yYczX3XFAZYlhdMMA/w640-h512/victor%20henry%20stone%201.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Yeah that's it. Right there in the middle. Broken. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Like I said, it is rare my ancestors have a headstone so to find this one broken broke my heart. I immediately began a family campaign to replace the stone which was a process in and of itself (also discussed in the video). </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">What I want to highlight here, though, is the hidden cost of replacing a headstone or erecting a marker on an unmarked grave. It is not just a matter of going to a stone carver and picking out something pretty to bear your loved one's name and dates of birth and death. Oh no, it is so much more than that. Depending on the cemetery, there may be many fees; fees to review their records, fees to remove the damaged stone, permit fees to allow the stone carver to place a new stone, and something called perpetual care fees.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Now maybe you'll be lucky to avoid all that but my ancestors were Catholics and in New York City. If yours were too, be prepared to pay up. Well, think about it. Any land in New York City is expensive and maybe the separation of church and state means a cemetery with religious affiliation doesn't have to pay taxes to the state on that land (I don't know) but even so, once a cemetery sells a plot, how do they continue to make any money? Someone has to pay the people who mow the lawn and manage the records, so most cemeteries charge maintenance fees to grave owners for that very reason.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">So, perpetual care... According to the New York State Division of Cemeteries, "All cemeteries must cut the grass on all graves and provide some degree of maintenance to other types of final resting places." Cemeteries can sell “endowed” or “perpetual” care services, meaning the individual who buys the plot pays a fee to the cemetery. The cemetery holds or invests that money to earn profits thus being able to continue long term care beyond basic grass cutting, such as beautifying the cemetery with plantings, or cleaning the monument, or fixing pathways, etc. The contract between the cemetery and the buyer will show what care will be provided. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">When a family has bought perpetual care, that does not ensure the cemetery will be cared for in perpetuity. If the cemetery's investment does not generate enough income to cover cost of maintenance, the cemetery could fall into disrepair or the cemetery may ask, but cannot require, the family to increase the amount of money in the account. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">So, when a plot is purchased, the cemetery will ask the plot owner to pay a perpetual care fee. Frequently there was be an option to pay a lesser fee annually rather than a larger perpetual care fee. My family, not being financially well off, typically opt for the lesser annual fee. Then, time goes by and the plot owner stops paying it for whatever reason; maybe they themselves pass away as was the case with Victor Henry's son who bought the plot to bury his father. What this means is that the plot is left in arrears, which means you haven't paid your bill. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">That adds up over time and when the next burial comes around, or in my case, when someone wants to restore a headstone or erect a new one, you have to pay that accrued back care fee. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">My advice, just pay the perpetual care fee from the get go and communicate that to the family. That is why you find headstone that have "perpetual care" engraved on them. Sure, the cemetery may ask for additional funds but they can't demand care fees, not in NY they can't. Spare your descendants the expense and just pay the fee.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">By the way, this is Victor Henry's new headstone; financed by many of his descendants and placed just in time for the 125th anniversary of his death. Without the exact dates of birth and death for all those interred, I opted to just put the years although I do much prefer when the whole date is present.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaamtZyjAdfZDBuu27LGVkKvT9t_qmZ7ZCrAea51vJhQ_aM1F7XXemlN4hjoorJxemDbOkM2GLHtJAui2N4kJvTlSXA9ZONeQ0_wkBfChgOL-R38-VJuXyaAZPa9vx5t_mUajaEqrrMNUZC9mziaeCGQEH3mGEVmtEWpAF76ondioVOfUBk81eN50BNg/s2048/headstone%20Victor%20Henry%202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaamtZyjAdfZDBuu27LGVkKvT9t_qmZ7ZCrAea51vJhQ_aM1F7XXemlN4hjoorJxemDbOkM2GLHtJAui2N4kJvTlSXA9ZONeQ0_wkBfChgOL-R38-VJuXyaAZPa9vx5t_mUajaEqrrMNUZC9mziaeCGQEH3mGEVmtEWpAF76ondioVOfUBk81eN50BNg/w480-h640/headstone%20Victor%20Henry%202.jpg" width="480" /></a></span></div>Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391173177253541435noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-421944383866797753.post-74892937090917952012022-11-07T08:44:00.000-05:002022-11-07T08:44:19.300-05:0052 Ancestors Challenge Week 45: "Ghost Story" - An Apparition in Freeport<p>I don't really have family ghost stories, at least not one related to my family history. I mean both my sister and I recall separate instances of a ghostly apparition in the upstairs of our childhood home. The figure of a man dressed as a fly fisherman didn't seem to be a relative but ya never know.</p><p>My Uncle Walter, my uncle by marriage, now deceased, spoke of a home in his family located in Brooklyn that was haunted. Uncle Walter passed away in 2014 after a battle with brain cancer. Given that he is no longer with us I could not pin down a story. I clearly recall him referring to the "upstairs" of a brownstone being the residence of the specters and that he had either seen or hear a story of someone watching a toy roll back and forth across an upstairs floor. My sister recalls him speaking of sounds of a baby crying. Again, though, not really a ghost story I recall.<br></p><p>I once came across a story in a newspaper about a ghost in the town of Freeport, Long Island, New York where my Losee family lived. Several of the articles, and yes, there were several, mentioned an encounter between the specter and a John Losee. I am not entirely sure that the John Losee in the article was indeed my relative though. The articles describe him as a young man with the middle initial R. My great-great grandfather, John M. Losee Jr., would have been about 23 at the time and although that sounds young to me now, hmm, the article gave me the sense that this was a teenager interviewed.</p><p>The story I first saw appeared in the <i>Brooklyn Daily Eagle</i> on November 19, 1893, page 20. (See below for article, followed by a transcription for those who cannot read the image).</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQOrnJqWO8C0romBCw-y32QdrqZeqK8JVzhZdjJl9U6hilxmgDCqtJDozkHAU_3DikN2ZIynGovlQKFOfZ3zNQtUYhy32oOsBfa3BjgVtpI-LWsfeqgBVg6eR_MuSVesKkBJzS64A3PpEEq7p6MSm-cxHfwp5j_X3WAQvho44VmKaghBVpHAcdsZcwpw/s1731/Apparition%20in%20Freeport.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1731" data-original-width="877" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQOrnJqWO8C0romBCw-y32QdrqZeqK8JVzhZdjJl9U6hilxmgDCqtJDozkHAU_3DikN2ZIynGovlQKFOfZ3zNQtUYhy32oOsBfa3BjgVtpI-LWsfeqgBVg6eR_MuSVesKkBJzS64A3PpEEq7p6MSm-cxHfwp5j_X3WAQvho44VmKaghBVpHAcdsZcwpw/w324-h640/Apparition%20in%20Freeport.jpg" width="324"></a></div><blockquote style="border: medium none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p>An Apparition in Freeport</p><p>It Appears to be a Man Seven Feet High and Waltzes on One Foot</p><p>Freeport, L.I., Nov. 18 - Fearful hearts are beating in this village to-night. Fathers have deserted warm firesides and mothers have sent their sons forth to rid Freeport on an apparition. Men are patrolling the streets armed with weapons of war of modern and ancient make, ready to shoot the strange being if it appears in their path.</p><p>The apparition made its initial appearance in Freeport's streets a week ago. It has held undisputed away after nightfall ever since. The vicinity of lower Main Street has been the favorite haunt of the mysterious being. That portion of the street is lined on both sides by large trees and is shrouded in deep gloom after nightfall. Aside from the attractions mentioned it is a favorite spot with the youth of the place.</p><p>Miss Pauline Klein was being escorted home by Joseph Bennett of Hempstead. When near a place known as the Dell Raynor property a man jumped from behind a tree. He began a high-kicking act on the sidewalk. Miss Klein uttered a piercing shriek and clutched Mr. Bennett's arm.</p><p>"Oh! Joe! Joe! what is it!" asked the young woman, in husky tones. Before Mr. Bennett could reply, the strange being made a dash for the couple. Miss Klein and her escort fled down the street. Finally when forced to stop for want of breath, they turned and looked back. There was no one in sight.</p><p>The apparition has been seen several times since that night and has frightened a number of persons. Martin Acorn, employed as a hostler in a village hotel, had a lively experience with the apparition last night. A little later John Losee walked down Main Street whistling the "Girl I Left Behind Me," when the apparition jumped from behind a house and began to waltz towards him on one foot.</p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: medium none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p>Those who have seen the "terror" describe him as a man 7 feet in height, with red flowing side whiskers and a face as white as snow. His face looks as if it was painted. His clothing is ragged, and, in running, he has a knee action like a trotting horse.</p></blockquote><p>It makes me laugh what was taken for news, then and now to be honest. The story was also covered in the <i>New York Times</i>, <i>The World, The Buffalo Currier, The Buffalo Weekly Express,</i> and <i>The Sun</i>. Yes, prominent publications. <i>The Sun</i> was the paper in which, just 4 years later on September 21, 1897, Francis Church responded to 8 year-old Virginia O'Hanlon with the now famous line "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus." And as Virginia's papa said, "If you see it in <i>The Sun</i> it's so."</p><p>The <i>Buffalo Weekly Express</i> had more lurid details of John's encounter with the apparition running around Freeport in it's November 30th coverage.</p><blockquote style="border: medium none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">John R. Losee got closer than either of the preceding witnesses. The shape appeared to Losee while he was going home about 10 o'clock on Thursday evening (probably November 23, 1893). Losee agrees on the eight feet tall and white hair on the face, and adds that the features looked like a man and wore very ragged clothes. Losee was walking in lower Main Street when the creature attacked him. Losee reached out his hand to catch the monster, but it dissolved as it had done in the presence of Austin Ellison, Losee says you can't hear the ghost's feet strike when it runs.</p></blockquote><p>Now the apparition is 8 feet tall. Grew a foot since the last newspaper. The November 26th edition of <i>The World</i> revealed that the culprit had already been unmasked though; like a scene from Scooby Doo. It was no other than a few high spirited local young men. </p><blockquote style="border: medium none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p style="text-align: left;">As was stated in <i>The World</i> at the time, the so-called ghost first appeared here [Freeport, Long Island, NY] on Nov. 12 [1893]. From that time until last Thursday [Nov. 28] the entire town has spent more or less time hunting the apparition or fleeing from it. On that night one of the "ghosts" was caught.</p><p style="text-align: left;">The air of this place seems to have been filled with all the ingredients that make what are known as practical jokers. It appears not that this air affected some of our young men. Charles H. Lott, Jr., was the first affected. Dressed in a gunning suit of heavy brown canvas and a "sou'wester" hat he was on his way to the bay late Sunday night, Nov. 12, when he suddenly came across Joseph Bennett and Miss Pauline Kleinert sitting on the front stoop of the young woman's home. Thinking to elude them Lott was sneaking around the house when Bennett caught sight of him and started towards him. Lott then started on a run across the lots and soon outdistanced Bennett, who returned to the young woman. They discussed the matter and came to the conclusion that they had seen a ghost. The following Wednesday [November 15] night a "ghost" in the person of Harry Smith, twenty-two years old, appeared on the main road and was chased by quite a crowd. The "ghost" was lost in the woods. Smith had conveniently climbed a tree.</p><p style="text-align: left;">On Sunday [Nov. 26] last, Allison [I think this is really Austin as mentioned in the article above] Ellison who had been Smith's confederate, dressed himself in feminine attire and startled half the town by running like mad through the main streets. Through the efforts of Smith a crowd gave chase and followed "Ghost" Ellison to a pond, where the crowd lost sight of him. He had unhesitatingly plunged into the water and swam away.</p><p style="text-align: left;">The next evening [Monday, Nov. 27] William Bouschier, one of the reputable young men of the town decided to catch the ghost. He did so. Louis Friedman, employed by Henry Mead's bakery, had arrayed himself in all the clothing necessary for a well-equipped ghost and late at night started out. He had not gone far when Bouschier got on his track and caught him in the woods where Friedman, fearful of a beating made known his identity.</p></blockquote><p>So let's see that "ghost" was at least 4 people - Charles H. Lott, Jr., Harry Smith, Austin Ellison, and Louis Friedman. Not exactly a witch hunt but a little mass hysteria for the village.</p><p><br></p><p><br></p>Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07391173177253541435noreply@blogger.com0