Thank you, Officer Heney

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"

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.

In the image below I have highlighted where my family members' names appear. 

The article reads as follows:

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.

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.

Heney collapsed after every one was out, and was relieved from duty after having been restored by an ambulance surgeon.

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.

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.

The fire was confined to the basement and the stationary store of Samuel Weiss. A third alarm was sent as a precautionary measure.

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.

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.

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.

Where Did You Go, Lydia?

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.

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.

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. 

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. 

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? 

A Visit to My Patriot

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: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nw53oHpcfgA

Anyway...

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. 

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. 

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.

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.

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? Such a small world that these friends had family in a town that my family helped to settle.

That's right, my ancestors helped to settle Derry, NH. 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!

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.

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.

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, Andrea 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.

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. 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.

John's headstone of the left reads:

HERE LYES THE BODY

OF MR JOHN MOOR

HE DEPARTED THIS 

LIFE JAN 24 1774

AGE 91 YEARS

Janet's headstone on the right reads:

HERE LYES THE BODY

OF MRS JENIT MOOR

WED TO MR JOHN MOOR

SHE DIED MARCH

THE 8TH 1776 IN

THE 89TH YEAR OF

HER AGE

Not far from them lies their son Lt. Col. Robert Moore (May 22, 1724 - October 25, 1778), my 5th great grandfather:

My 7th great grandfather's headstone, Samuel Moor (1655 - 1734), also known as Charter Samuel Moor I:

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.

This is Charter John Moore II's headstone, first cousin to my 6th great grandfather John Moor:

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.

 

Below is the headstone of my 7th great grandmother, Mary Partridge-Moor (1660 - 1733), wife of "Charter" Samuel Moor 1:

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.

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?

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. 
 

The Sticky Wicket of Bringing DNA into your Bag of Genealogy Tools

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 their data pools and refines their algorithms. 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.

Just as you can discover unpleasant truths in your genealogy record research, using DNA in your research can be a disarming and potentially painful experience. 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.

That being said there is a great deal to be gained by adding the tool of direct-to-consumer DNA to your toolkit.

Few Surprises to Me

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.

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.

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.

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

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. 

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.

Breaking Through Brick Walls

DNA has also helped me to break through a nagging research brick wall that I had. 

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.

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:

It reads: Could not ascertain Mother's Maiden name - August Henry

August was her son and the informant providing details to the medical examiner about Mary.

I knew Carrion was not correct.

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.

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.

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.

...But Not All Discoveries for Everyone are Happy Discoveries.

Now that I have a decade of dealing with my own DNA results, I am confident helping others decipher their results. 

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. 

• I have had to tell a man who was nearly 50 years-old that he was adopted.
• I've had to tell people that the man they know as their father is not their biological father.
• I've had birth fathers tell me to go away.
• 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.
  
• 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
• I have had to tell donor conceived sisters that they were not full biological siblings despite what the sperm bank told their mother.

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.

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.

Often the uncomfortable situation has very little if anything to do with you. You are just the waypoint for another to learn their truth. 

Another Relative at Creedmoor

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.

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.

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...

I just found another relative who died while a patient at Creedmoor Psychiatric Hospital in Queens, New York. 

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.

I am currently reading Damnation Island: Poor, Sick, Mad, and Criminal in 19th-Century New York 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...

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. 

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.

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.

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. 

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.

Never Trust an Index

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.

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.

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:

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. 

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?"

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. 

Again, never trust an index. Look at the original record. Even if you don't think that could be your people, look anyway. 

Hey Universe, Stop Talking to Me so Early in the Morning

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.

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 Brooklyn Daily Eagle. Even though my college is clearly on Long Island, situated right on the boarder of Nassau and Suffolk County, the Brooklyn Daily Eagle 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 Brooklyn Daily for a mention of them. It's free: https://bklyn.newspapers.com/paper/the-brooklyn-daily-eagle/1890/

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.

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.

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). 

Now why did I research her?

Good question. Glad you asked.

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: https://bollerscrapbook.omeka.net/exhibits

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.  

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

In any case, serendipity happens. Just thought I'd share. I guess the Universe is telling me to get back to work.