Week 5 – 2023: Oops #52Ancestors

Sometimes a great story comes along and you fight so hard to make it true.

Case in point, my husband’s purported 6th great-grandfather, Anthony Lindsey (or Lindsay).  There are at least three iterations of his ancestry, all involving three brothers who came from Scotland.[1] So much that surrounds Anthony that is conjecture and speculation.

So what do I know about Anthony, for sure?

 Well, I know that he married Alice Page because both of them are named in Alice’s stepfather’s will. Specifically, Francis Tolson “discharges and acquits” Anthony of all his debts to Tolson due at the time of his death.

There is an (another?) Anthony Lindsay that shows up in the records at about this time. It seems that on February 26, 1735, this Anthony and two others were indicted for breaking and entering the home of Jane Love in London in the early morning hours of January 5, 1735.[2] They stole “a Copper Fish Kettle, a Coffee Pot, a Frying Pan, a Sauce Pan, eighteen Plates, four Dishes, a a Pestle and Mortar, a Cane with a Brass Head, a Hat, two Wigs, three Pair of Breeches, a Petticoat, and six Yards of Cloth.” Anthony piloted the get-away boat which was moored on the Thames behind Love’s home. After putting all the booty in the boat, the thieves rowed it away. They were somewhat successful in selling what they stole, however, one of the thieves, Ethelbert Hawks, fell into the Thames while wearing one of the stolen breeches and wigs.[3]

 A fourth thief, John Faucet, was not indicted with the three others because he “turned evidence” and testified against them at court. Apparently, Faucet had done this previously, sending these former comrades to the gallows. Seven or eight witnesses appeared on behalf of Anthony, swearing to his good character. Regrettably, he and the other two thieves were found guilty and sentenced to death.[4]

 I can only presume that the testimony in favor of Anthony lead to his sentence being “reprieved” and the punishment being reduced to transportation to America. On April 12, 1735, Anthony and sixty-five other convicts boarded the Patapscoe Mercant captained by Darby Lux and bound for Maryland.[5] Lux had been contracted by Jonathan Forward, the London merchant solely responsible for convict transportation to the American colonies from 1718 until 1739.[6] In June 1735, the British government paid Forward £495 for transporting these felons from Newgate prison and thirty-three felons from county jails.[7]

 Banishment to the colonies was nothing new by the time this happened to Anthony. From the earliest days of the colonies, colonial governors regularly asked the British government for convict labor.[8] Planters were eager to pay a minimal amount for the virtual ownership of a convict, seven years or fourteen years.[9] But these instances of transportation were of a makeshift nature. In 1718 the number of convicts transported shot up. In a response a rising crime-wave that swept London and the surrounding counties, the British Parliament passed the Transportation Act: An act for the further preventing robbery, burglary, and other felonies and for the more effectual transportation of felons, and unlawful exporters of wool; and for declaring the law upon some points relating to pirates.[10] This act established a regulated, bonded system to transport criminals to the North American colonies for indentured service and became the leading penalty for property offences.[11] From 1718 to 1775, more than 30,000 convicts were transported from England to America, the vast majority from London.[12]

 While many in the Lindsey family believe that Anthony Lindsey the convict was the same Anthony Lindsey who married Alice Page, I have my doubts.

1.     How did Anthony marry in Maryland before 1728 (when his son was born) and then wind up sentenced to death in London not many years later? Are we to assume that he was some kind of sailor who regularly went back and forth from Britain to the New World. That’s a BIG leap.

2.     As a transported felon, Anthony would not have been freed when he arrived in Maryland. Instead, he would have been sold by Lux into indentured servitude for at least seven years. This would make his fathering two more children problematic, at the least.

3.     Lastly, much credence is given to Francis Tolson forgiving Anthony’s debts in his will with the assumption that Tolson paid for his freedom. The problem with this story, as sweet as it is, is that Tolson died in 1730, five years before Anthony’s troubles.

 Oops.

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[1] Margaret Isabella Lindsay, The Lindsays of America (Albany, N.Y.: J. Munsell’s Sons, 1889), 256-57; digital image, Archive.org (https://archive.org/details/lindsaysofameric1889lind/page/256/mode/2up : accessed 16 February 2023).

[2] Old Bailey Proceedings Online (www.oldbaileyonline.org, version 8.0, 17 February 2023), February 1735, trial of John Sindal Anthony Lindsey Ethelbert Hawks (t17350226-61).

[3] Ibid.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Marion and Jack Kaminkow, eds., Original Lists of Emigrants in Bondage from London to the American Colonies 1919-1744 (Baltimore, MD: Magna Carta Book Co., 1967), 192-193.

[6] A. Roger Ekirch, Bound for America: The Transportation of British Convicts to the Colonies 1781-1775 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987), 70-71.

[7] Warrants for the Payment of Money: 1735, April-June," in Calendar of Treasury Books and Papers, Volume 3, 1735-1738, ed. William A Shaw (London: Her Majesty's Stationery Office, 1900), 106-122; digital image, British History Online (http://www.british-history.ac.uk/cal-treasury-books-papers/vol3/pp106-122 : accessed 21 February 2023).

[8] Kaminkow, Emigrants in Bondage, viii.

[9] Ibid, ix.

[10] “1717: 4 George 1 c.11: The Transportation Act,” The Statutes Project (https://statutes.org.uk/site/the-statutes/eighteenth-century/1717-4-george-1-c-11-the-transportation-act/ : accessed 21 February 2023).

[11] A. Roger Ekrich, “Bound for America: A profile of British Convicts Transported to the Colonies, 1718-1775, The William and Mary Quarterly, Vol. 42, No. 2 (April 1985), 184-200: digital image, JStor.org (https://www.jstor.org/stable/1920427 : accessed 22 February 2023).

[12] A. Roger Ekirch, Bound for America: The Transportation of British Convicts to the Colonies 1781-1775 (New York: Oxford Univeristy Press, 1987), 23.

Baltimore harbor. The Patapscoe Merchant landed here with her 66 convicts. “Baltimore,” [No Date Recorded on Shelflist Card] Photograph; digital image, Library of Congress (<www.loc.gov/item/2003680964/> : accessed 22 February 2023).

Week 4 – 2023: Education #52Ancestors [better late than never]

My parents were the first in their families to attend college. Dad graduated from Seton Hall College after WWII and mom graduated from the College of St. Elizabeth’s in 1945. But that is not to say that their ancestors didn’t place value on education. When my great-grandfather, Michael McDonough, was five, the U.S. census for 1860 shows he and his older brother and sister (nine and seven, respectively) attended school.[1]

 Immigrants from Ireland, Michael’s parents, Michael, Sr. and Bridget Dunnigan, arrived in the U.S. in the mid-1840’s. They settled in Clinton Township, Essex County, New Jersey where Michael was a “gardener.”[2] As with many areas in the country, the boundaries and names of this part of New Jersey changed a lot until the late 1920’s. It’s a confusing journey to track the name and boundary changes and, even if I could, I wouldn’t inflict that pain on you, my dear readers. Suffice it to say, Michael’s farm was in what is now called Maplewood, my hometown.

  “Tradition” holds that first school house in this area was built before 1760.[3] It was a stone building about twenty by thirty. Families paid for their child’s attendance through the provision of firewood, although exemptions were made based upon the family’s financial state.[4]

 By the time Michael went to school, there were five schools in what became (formally) the South Orange/Maplewood School District. He and his siblings attended the one in “Middleville” (previously called North Farms and later called Hilton).[5] Apparently, there was a school in that area since before 1817 and by 1830 the state was providing some financial support for these local schools.[6] In 1846, New Jersey required townships to raise school taxes equal to the amount the state appropriated. By 1854, the Middleville school reported seventy-nine children in attendance, at a yearly cost of $197.14.[7] In 1857, Middleville male teachers were paid $100-$112 per quarter and female teachers $38.[8] The school that Michael likely attended was located at the intersection of Springfield and Boyden, a short walk from his home (also on Boyden).[9]

 It wasn’t until 1867 that the State Board of Education was given general supervision over all public schools in New Jersey. Before then, each of the five schools in Clinton had its own association and/or a small board of trustees. From the 1830’s forward, the inhabitants of Middleville “elected” the teacher, but also elected three trustees to handle day-to-day decisions. By the time Michael was fifteen, he was no longer as student, but his younger sisters and brother still attended.[10]

 While reading the Foster book (cited below) on the evolution of the South Orange and Maplewood school district, I was struck by the author’s devotion to public education. Little wonder since he was the Superintendent of the district from 1900 to 1927. A favorite quote:

 Aside from justice to the family, the safety of the state demands universal education. Compulsory education came naturally as the only way to secure it. A democracy depends particularly upon the intelligence and character of the people.[11]

 At a time when public education is under intense fire – be it the banning of books from classrooms, fining teachers who say “gay,” or the alleged “school-choice” movement – a functioning democracy needs universal education to help students develop the necessary judgment and discernment to be engaged citizens. The teaching of human dignity, equal rights, tolerance of diversity, civility, truth, civic engagement, and the rule of law ensure the very future of America.

_________________________

[1] 1860 U.S. census, Essex County, New Jersey, population schedule, Clinton, p. 3 (penned), dwelling 20, family 20, Michael McDonough; image, Ancestry (http://www.ancestry.com : accessed 11 February 2023) citing National Archives microfilm publication M653, roll 690.

[2] 1850 U.S. census, Essex County, New Jersey, population schedule, Clinton Township, p. 32 (penned), dwelling 230, family 244, Michael McDonough; image, Ancestry (http://www.ancestry.com : accessed 11 February 2023) citing National Archives microfilm publication M432, roll 450.

[3] Henry Wittemore, The Founders and Builders of the Oranges (Newark, NJ: L.J. Hardham Printer and Bookbinder, 1896), 358.

[4] Ibid.

[5] “Middleville” because it was equidistant between Morristown and Newark. Kaitlynn Davis, “The Hilton Section: Many Names, One Identity,” Durand-Hedden (https://www.durandhedden.org/post/the-hilton-section-many-names-one-identity : accessed 10 February 2023).

[6] Henry W. Foster, The Evolution of the School District of South Orange and Maplewood, New Jersey, 1814-1927 (Geneva, NY: The W. F. Humphrey Press, 1930), 58, 64.

[7] Ibid, 92.

[8] Of course. Wittemore, The Founders, 359.

[9] Kaitlynn Davis, “Maplewood, in the Orange Mountains,” Durand-Hedden (https://www.durandhedden.org/post/maplewood-in-the-orange-mountains : accessed 10 February 2023).

[10] 1870 U.S. census, Essex County, New Jersey, population schedule, South Orange, p. 15 (penned), dwelling 98, family 103, Michael McDonough; image, Ancestry (http://www.ancestry.com : accessed 11 February 2023) citing National Archives microfilm publication M593, roll 861.

[11] Foster, Evolution, 4.

Portion of a 1859 Map of Essex County. Baker & Tilden, Mao of Essex County, New Jersey (New York: Baker & Tilden, 1859). M Donehue is an error, should be M. McDonough.

Week 3 – 2023: Out of Place #52Ancestors

How about instead of “out of place,” the “right place”?

 Last week, I had the honor of attending the naturalization ceremony of a good friend. After a bit of a cluster when a 100+ people showed up in freezing weather and couldn’t get into the courthouse, the ceremony itself was great. Especially impressive were the courthouse and U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services (USICS) personnel. To a person they were gracious and kind. The Naturalization Examiner who did a terrific job running the ceremony, explained in detail the new rights and responsibilities to these new citizens. I thought it especially interesting that he took great pains to explain who in their family were now permitted to join them in the U.S. (a matter-of-fact explanation of something now derisively referred to as “chain-migration”).[1]

 These eighty-nine new citizens (from thirty-six countries) were given the oath by Senior Judge Julie A. Robinson. Appointed by George W. Busch in 2021, Judge Robinson is the first African-American judge for the District of Kansas (she was a U.S. Bankruptcy Judge for seven years before her appointment).[2] An impressive speaker, her delight at being able to preside over this ceremony was obvious. She even attended the cookie and punch reception afterwards to pose with the new citizens for pictures. In her remarks, Judge Robinson noted how all citizens, including those like her ancestors who were brought to here involuntarily, shared a responsibility to be the best citizens they could in order to help make the county better for all. Her emphasis on love and kindness was most moving.

 For the Oath of Citizenship, the new citizen declares, “I absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state, or sovereignty of whom or which I have heretofore been a subject or citizen….” Of course, we lawyers in attendance with our friend were struck by that language. How does this square with the concept of “dual citizenship”? Unbeknownst to me, there is quite a bit of history behind this concept.

 After years and years of cases dealing with citizenship issues, the 1967 landmark case of Afroyim v. Rusk held that the only way a U.S. citizen (either by birth or naturalization) could lose citizenship was by a separate voluntary renunciation.[3] Even though Afroyim doesn’t precisely deal with our question, the concept of dual citizenship, which previously had been opposed by the U.S. government, became more accepted.[4] During the Carter administration, the U.S. finally and fully abandoned it’s prohibition against dual citizenship following naturalization.[5] There are some countries that do not permit dual citizenship (such as China, Japan, Netherlands, etc.) and in that case, one would have to renounce his/her U.S. citizenship to become a citizen of those countries.[6]

 While applicants for naturalization have taken some form of oath to support the Constitution since the first naturalization law in 1790, the language wasn’t standardized until 1929.[7] The antiquated-sounding oath our friend took was nearly identical to the one my second great-grandfather Christopher Götter took in 1863: “[I] doth absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to every foreign Prince, Potentate, State or Sovereignty whatever, and particularly to the Grand Dude of Baden of whom he was heretofore a subject.”[8] When Christopher became a U.S. citizen, his Irish-born wife, Mary, automatically became a citizen. Remarkably, the reverse was not true (that is, an alien husband could not gain U.S. citizenship through his wife) until 1922.[9]

_______________________________

[1] The Immigration and Nationality Ace of 1965 gave priority to immediate relatives, spouses, and children of U.S. citizens. Wikipedia.org, Immigration and Nationality Ace of 1965, 17:22, 19 January 2023.

[2] United States District Court, District of Kansas, “Senior Judge Julie A. Robinson,” (https://ksd.uscourts.gov/content/senior-judge-julie-robinson : accessed 21 January 2023).

[3] Afroyim v Rusk, 387 U.S. 254 (1967).

[4] Wikipedia.org, “Afroyim v. Rusk,” 04:39, 7 February 2022.

[5] Ibid.

[6] NNU Immigration, “Countries Allowing Dual Citizenship with USA,” 1 July 2021 (https://www.nnuimmigration.com/dual-citizenship-usa/ : accessed 24 January 2023).

[7] U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services, “History of the Oath of Allegiance,” (https://www.uscis.gov/citizenship/learn-about-citizenship/the-naturalization-interview-and-test/history-of-the-oath-of-allegiance : accessed 23 January 2023).

[8] Christopher Goetter, naturalization (1863), file 1042, Court of Common Pleas, Union County, New Jersey; digital image, "New Jersey, County Naturalization Records, 1749-1986," database with images, FamilySearch (https://familysearch.org/ark:/61903/3:1:3QS7-L9Q4-WHZC?cc=2057433&wc=M73B-LNG%3A351146401%2C351462801 : accessed 23 January 2023), Union > Petitions for naturalization and petition evidence 1857-1906 no 625-1059 > image 1565 of 1633; New Jersey Department of State, Division of Archives and Records Management; multiple counties in New Jersey.

[9] Okay, maybe not so remarkable. Marian L. Smith, “Women and Naturalization, c. 1802-1940,” Prologue Magazine, Vol. 30, No. 2 (Summer 1998); image copy, National Archives (https://www.archives.gov/publications/prologue/1998/summer/women-and-naturalization-1.html : accessed 24 January 2023).

Judge Julie A. Robinson (center) with our friend, his wife (who was naturalized last year) and members of the local S.A.R. chapter.

Week 2 - 2023: Favorite Photo #52Ancestors

This is a regular prompt from our fearless leader, Amy Johnson Crowe. And why not? I have tons of photos that would qualify and the only problem is how to pick just one a year?

 My pic this year is of the first Catholic church in Parsons, Kansas. The photo shows the parish priest (far left) along with my husband’s great-grandparents, Edward D. McCormick and Mary Quinlan (the couple to the right of the lamp-post). Someone (probably Ed and Mary’s daughter Kate) noted that three of Mary’s sisters are in the photo along with a Katie (Reilly) Carpenter.

 At first, I thought this was a picture of original church building which was built by the parishioners in 1873[1]. According to the St. Patrick’s website, the first church was small wooden building with a gable roof and small steeple, which is what I thought photo depicted. However, it appears this first small church was replaced in 1882 to accommodate the increase in parishioners from the original twenty families to over 600.[2]  

 Ed and Mary were married at St. Patrick’s on 21 August 1889 by Father John Ward. Based upon the way Ed and Mary are dressed in this photo, I thought that it may have been taken on the day of their marriage. However, I’ve seen a picture of Father Ward (who became a bishop) and I have my doubts now. While I love this picture, I sure wish Kate had provided more information about it.

_________________________

[1] The church’s history says the building was completed by July 1872. “History of St. Patrick Catholic Church, Parsons, Kansas,” Saint Patrick Catholic Church (https://stpatricksparsons.org/home/st-patrick-parish-history : accessed 10 January 2023). However, the Parsons Weekly Herald reported in May of 1873 that the foundation was just then completed and that carpenters were “busily engaged” in erecting the 24x45 ft. building. “The foundation,” Parsons (Kansas) Weekly Herald, 22 May 1873, p. 3, col. 2.

[2]  “History of St. Patrick Catholic Church, Parsons, Kansas,” Saint Patrick Catholic Church (https://stpatricksparsons.org/home/st-patrick-parish-history : accessed 10 January 2023).

St. Patrick Catholic Church, Parsons, Kansas

Week 1 – 2023: I’d Like to Meet #52Ancestors

My great-grandmother’s father.

Born in Baden, Germany, my great-grandmother, Carolina Neidhart, was baptized in the Catholic church on 19 December 1869, the day after she was born.[1]  The last of four children born to Crescenzia Neidhart and an unknown father; unknown because Carolina and her siblings were all identified in their baptismal records as illegitimate. I wrote about some of this several years ago – that the power structure in Germany in the 18th and 19th centuries forbade marriages unless those in power agreed.[2] Recently, I thought I could figure out who her father was by looking at the male sponsors and witnesses to the baptism of the children - surely, the father would have been present.[3]

A couple of things stood out to me:

·      First son named same as godfather.

·      Why five-year gap between first and second child?

·      Two different godfathers, although the godmother was the same for all four children.

·      The occupations of the godfathers would indicate they are surely two different men.

So, I thought, even if Crescenzia was not married to her children’s father(s), he/they might have been born in the same area. I checked for any Maier or Moriz born 1820-1838 in the baptismal records for Kirchen und Hausen for these men. I found a Franz Joseph Mayer who was a good candidate, but he died in 1866. This could explain that he was godfather for the first two children and maybe their father. However, no Joseph Moriz was found in the baptismal records, leaving me still looking for Carolina’s father.[4]

_______________________

[1] Kirchen-Hausen, Baden, Wurttemberg, Germany, Register of births, marriages, deaths (1850-1869), Carolina Neidhart (19 December 1869); digital image, FamilySearch (https://www.familysearch.org/ark:/61903/3:1:3Q9M-CSL1-5998-P?i=751&cat=55010 : accessed 5 January 2023).

[2] John Knodel, “Law, Marriage and Illegitimacy in the Nineteenth-Century Germany,” Population Studies, Vol. 20, No. 3 (March 1967), pp. 279-294; digital images, JSTOR (https://www.jstor.org/stable/2172673  : accessed 5 January 2023).

[3] Kirchen-Hausen, Baden, Wurttemberg, Germany, Register of births, marriages, deaths (1850-1869), Franz Joseph Neidhart (9 October 1859); digital image, FamilySearch (https://www.familysearch.org/ark:/61903/3:1:3Q9M-CSL1-599J-1?i=560&cat=55010 : accessed 5 January 2023). Kirchen-Hausen, Baden, Wurttemberg, Germany, Register of births, marriages, deaths (1850-1869), Anton Neidhart (10 January 1864); digital image, FamilySearch (https://www.familysearch.org/ark:/61903/3:1:3Q9M-CSL1-599X-D?i=652&cat=55010 : accessed 5 January 2023). Kirchen-Hausen, Baden, Wurttemberg, Germany, Register of births, marriages, deaths (1850-1869), Josepha Neidhart (22 October 1866); digital image, FamilySearch (https://www.familysearch.org/ark:/61903/3:1:3Q9M-CSL1-599Z-2?i=685&cat=55010 : accessed 5 January 2023). Kirchen-Hausen, Baden, Wurttemberg, Germany, Register of births, marriages, deaths (1850-1869), Carolina Neidhart (19 December 1869).

[4] An interesting post-script: of the 116 boys baptized in Kirchen-Hausen from 1820-1838, twenty-two of them were born to unwed mothers. So much for the powers-that-be stopping love.

A Little DNA Goes A Long Way

Every year I promise myself that I will knuckle-down and really learn all about DNA and every year that never happens. I think that’s mostly because of a few things:

1.     I am math-challenged.

2.     I am science-challenged.

3.     DNA is HARD.

4.     I don’t have that many years left on Earth.

 What I have recently discovered about DNA is that you can take it in bite-size chunks so as not to overwhelm yourself and doing it that way is rewarding and informative.

My latest example of a little DNA success story involves my maternal great-grandmother (Carolina Neidhart) and her family in Baden, Germany. Recently, Ancestry rolled out matches according to parentage. One match on my mom’s side caught my eye: a possible 4th to 6th cousin with Carolina’s last name. I jumped on their tree (thank goodness for public trees) to see what they had on the Neidhart family. This tree went back to a Lawrence Neidhart born about 1810 in “Germany.” While that was not tremendously helpful in and of itself, the tree did have Lawrence’s wife’s name: “Crescentia Reichman.” Armed with these names, I started to research that family. In short order, I learned that Lawrence (aka Lorenz) and Crescentia were married in Kichen und Hausen, Baden, Germany, the same place where Carolina and her mother were born.[1] Sweet!

 With this information, I tentatively identified Lorenz’s father as Thomas. Thomas was born in Kirchen und Hausen in about 1764, only five years after my fourth great-grandfather, Franz. I didn’t have much on Franz, but my first thought was maybe they were brothers. Well, long story short, they were! Their parents were Joannes Simon Neidhart and Catherina Wiedemann, married in Kirchen un Hausen in 1755. Lorenz and Franz were two of Simon and Catherina’s eight children.

 Based on these newly discovered ancestors, it looks like my DNA match and I are, in fact, 6th cousins! How fun. I’ve reached out to my cuz to see if they are as tickled as I am but haven’t heard back.

 This little DNA journey took me two more generations back on this branch of my family tree and even opened up a new line. A bit thrilling and also do-able. Not a daunting as tackling all of DNA. Now to get to know those new ancestors and learn their stories!

 _______________________

[1] Now called Kirchen-Hausen, it is a district in the city of Geisingen, Baden-Württemberg, located on the Danube. I haven’t included proper citations because I haven’t been able to access the actual records and am relying on the Ancestry description. Never fear, I will get them included!

Who was Emily’s mom?

A question that has been bugging me for a long time: “Who was the mother of Emily Field the wife of Smith Elliott and daughter of William Field?”

Emily and Smith were my husband’s third great-grandparents and I’ve never had clarity on the identity of Emily’s mother. Of the 219 trees on Ancestry that have Emily in their tree, most identify her mom as Mary Rogers. But none of them, and I mean NONE, have any supporting documents. Same with the tree on FamilySearch. You can guess how much stock I put in that noise.

After ignoring this for too long a time, I decided to knuckle-down and get to the bottom of this.

Emily’s father, William Field, had two documented marriages in Mason County, Kentucky: Elizabeth Jones on 21 December 1796[1]; and, Cecelia Anderson on 24 January 1807.[2] Since Emily was born in 1805, it seems obvious that Elizabeth Jones must have been her mother, and to be fair, a few Ancestry trees have that. So where did “Mary Rogers” come from? Out of thin air? As near as I can tell Mary Rogers was first identified as William’s first wife in 1958 with the publication of “Historical Southern Families, Volume II,” by John Bennett Boddie.[3]

Boddie’s “Historical Southern Families” series consists of twenty-three volumes and he and his wife authored some forty-eight books on numerous families and their genealogy.[4]  A pretty impressive body of work. However, he has no citation for an alleged marriage between William and Mary and fails to mention Elizabeth Jones at all.

After looking through birth records, marriage records, burial records, probate records, and the like, I found nothing to support the existence of a Mary Rogers much less her marriage to William. It is telling that Boddie cites the correct date of the bond for the Field-Anderson marriage, but has no date for the alleged Field-Rogers marriage. The fact that he must have had access to the Mason County marriage bonds makes me wonder how he could have made this mistake. A cringe-worthy mistake. Nevertheless, this is an important lesson in verifying your facts and citing to original documents.

________________________

[1] Mason County, Kentucky, Marriage Bonds, 1796, William Field and Cecily Anderson, 24 January 1807; image, “Kentucky, County Marraiges, 1797-1954,” FamilySearch (https://www.familysearch.org/ark:/61903/3:1:3QSQ-G9SS-99CQ-J?i=138&cc=1804888&personaUrl=%2Fark%3A%2F61903%2F1%3A1%3AQ2QD-QWHP : accessed 30 August 2022), FHL microfilm 5552765, image 139.

[2] Mason County, Kentucky, Marriage Bonds, 1807, William Field and Elizabeth Jones, 21 December 1796; image, “Kentucky, County Marraiges, 1797-1954,” FamilySearch (https://www.familysearch.org/ark:/61903/3:1:3QSQ-G9S7-9ZC8?i=46&cc=1804888&personaUrl=%2Fark%3A%2F61903%2F1%3A1%3AQ2QD-QCMT : accessed 30 August 2022), FHL microfilm 5552766, image 47.

[3] John Bennett Boddie, Historical Southern Families, Volume II (Redwood City, CA : Clearfiled Company, 1958), 229; image, Ancestry (http://www.ancestry.com : accessed 29 August 2022).

[4] Per Worldcat.org.

Mason County, Kentucky courthouse is pictured below. Constructed in 1848 in Maysville. Photo by Jimmy Emerson, DVM (7 November 2009), https://www.flickr.com/photos/auvet/4103115163.

The Name’s the Same: Version 1,240

I came across a little mystery the other day: the Find A Grave memorial for my great-grand aunt, Catherine (Müller) Heydinger says that she and her husband Francis had ten children while my research had found only found seven.[1]However, I wasn’t surprised that there might have been more than I previously found. Experience taught me that while census records were great in showing family units, they would never show children who were born and died in between the enumerations. My investigation into this family got a shot in the arm with the recent online publication of 75% of the 13.3 million birth, death, and marriage records for New York City (currently a little over 10 million have been digitized and are online).[2]

A word about the NYC Department of Records and Information Services. Back in the day (and I don’t mean very long ago), to get any BDM records from NYC, you had to go to the New York City Municipal Archives located at 31 Chambers Street, Room 111, get the microfilm for the specific time-frame and the specific borough (guessing at which one if you didn’t exactly know), find the certificate you were looking for, place an order at the desk and wait for a paper copy. Not a difficult process, but time-consuming and reliant on being able to get to NYC. Some years later you could order the records online and, while saving on the cost of a trip to NYC, each record cost $15-21 plus “shipping.”  Fast-forward to March OF THIS VERY YEAR when, due to the monumental efforts (i.e. lawsuits) of Reclaim the Records, a 501(c)(3) non-profit, NYC vital record scans became freely available online!

Since all these Heydinger children were likely born in Brooklyn, determining who exactly were Catherine and Francis’ children became far easier. Or so I thought.

“New” children to verify:

• Mary Elizabeth – b. 1877, d. 1878

• Henrietta – b. 1881, d. 1881

• Lulu – b. 1889, d. 1889

• Catherine – b. 1891, d. 1891

• Charles – b. 1892, d. 1892

 I struck out finding any certificates for Mary Elizabeth, but was successful with the other four. Henrietta’s birth certificate gave her parents’ full names, including her mother’s maiden name.[3] However, neither the birth nor death certificates for the last three bothered to provide this information. Ugh. So now what?

 Thank goodness for the 1892 New York State Census.

 As you might know, most of the 1890 U.S. census records are gone with the wind. However, if your family lived in New York, the 1892 New York State Census is a blessing.

 The 1892 census enumerated the Heydinger family – Frank, Kate, and six children.[4] Most importantly, for me, it showed that they were living 127 Marion St., Brooklyn. Since the death certificates for Lulu and Catherine showed they died at this same address, I can be certain that these girls were Frank and Kate’s daughters.[5] For Charles however, his birth and death certificates had 140 Marion St.[6]  I’m guessing Charles was related to Frank and Kate, but am pretty sure he was not their son. Serendipity strikes again, this time in my favor.

________________________

[1] Find A Grave, database with images (http://www.finagrave.com : accessed 7 August 2022), memorial 223362182, Catherine Miller Heydinger (1852-1920), Green-Wood Cemetery, Brooklyn, Kings County, New York. This memorial is missing one daughter.

[2] The New York City Municipal Archives, Historical Vital Records, “The NYC Historical Vital Records Project” (https://a860-historicalvitalrecords.nyc.gov : accessed 7 August 2022).

[3] Brooklyn, New York, Certificate of Birth no. 2185, [female] Heydinger (1881); image, The New York City Municipal Archives (https://a860-historicalvitalrecords.nyc.gov : accessed 7 August 2022).

[4] 1892 New York state census, Kings county, population schedule, Brooklyn, Ward 25, E.D. 21, p. 4, 127 Marion St., Frank Heydinger; image, Ancestry (http://www.ancestry.com : accessed 7 August 2022); citing 1892 New York State Census, New York State Education Department, Office of Cultural Education, New York State Library, Albany, New York.

[5] Department of Health of the City of Brooklyn, New York, Certificate of Death no. 15757, Lulu Heydinger (1889); image, The New York City Municipal Archives (https://a860-historicalvitalrecords.nyc.gov : accessed 7 August 2022). Department of Health of the City of Brooklyn, New York, Certificate of Death no. 10655, Catherine Heydinger (1891); image, The New York City Municipal Archives (https://a860-historicalvitalrecords.nyc.gov : accessed 7 August 2022).

[6] Department of Health of the City of Brooklyn, New York, Certificate of Death no. 11657, Charles Heydinger (1892); image, The New York City Municipal Archives (https://a860-historicalvitalrecords.nyc.gov : accessed 7 August 2022).

Historic American Buildings Survey, Creator. Surrogates Court, 31 Chambers Street, New York County, NY. New York New York County, 1933. Documentation Compiled After. Photograph. https://www.loc.gov/item/ny1282/.

Coincidences are Real

In September, our son is moving to a new apartment in Brooklyn. The first thing I did whenI got the address was to look it up on Google Maps. “Strolling” around the streets of Bushwick, it struck me that I had been there before.

Well, I’ll be darned! Less than two miles from his apartment is the Most Holy Trinity Cemetery where my great-great-grandparents (Nichols Müller and Anna Marie Mandery) and great-grandparents (Joseph Glacy and Anna Müller) are buried.

According to the website for the cemetery, it was established in 1841 in Williamsburg, but moved ten-years later to its current location.[1] In 1899, The Brooklyn Eagle described this “Unique Burial Ground”:

Holy Trinity Cemetery, …, is probably unique among the burial places of this country. A city of the dead, in which all are equal, is the first impression of a visitor to this homely little German burying ground, where everything seems to breathe humility and piety, and where the pride of the world in the honors shown to the dead is conspicuous by its utter absence. One of the strenuous rules of the cemetery forbids the erection of stone monuments in any form whatever. All the mementos are either wood or galvanized iron. The latter are often painted in imitation of marble or granite. These imitations are sometimes very perfect and one is surprised to find on striking on that the monument is hollow.[2]

Apparently, almost every grave contained a verse or two dedicated to the deceased. “Quaint old German rhymes, tender, sincere, pathetic, and all breathing an intense religious spirit telling of the virtue and merits of those who sleep beneath.”[3] 

Another feature of the cemetery was that it adopted an “old world” custom of placing playthings of a deceased child on the grave.[4] Joseph and Anna’s youngest daughter, “Katie,” who died at twenty-four days was also buried at Most Holy Trinity, perhaps with a baby blanket or a poem such as this one found at the cemetery:

“Life’s brimming cup to her bright lips for one brief hour was raised, But death dashed sown the glowing draught – God’s will be praised.”[5]

While the motivation of the church was admirable (to memorialize the poor and rich in an equal fashion), the practical effect was that most of the monuments have rusted away, including those of my ancestors. Still it will be very cool to have my son living so close to where his ancestors lived and died.

—————————-

[1] “Most Holy Trinity Cemetery,” Most Holy Trinity-St. Mary (https://trinity-stmary.org/history/most-holy-trinity-cemeterynbsp : accessed 3 August 2022).

[2] “Holy Trinity Cemetery,” The Brooklyn (New York) Daily Eagle, 26 November 1899, p. 18, col. 3.

[3] Thomas F. Meehan, “A Village Churchyard,” Charles George Herbermann, LL.D., ed., Historical Records and Studies, Volume VII (New York: The United States Catholic Historical Society, 1914) 197; digital images, Archive.org (https://archive.org/details/historicalrecor10unkngoog/page/n219/mode/1up?view=theater&q=village : accessed 3 August 2022).

[4] Ibid.

[5] Ibid. Health Department, City of Brooklyn, certificate of death no. 12773 (1885), Katie Glacy; digital image (https://www1.nyc.gov/site/records/index.page : accessed 3 August 2022).

The New York (New York, New York) Tribune, 10 March 1901, p. 21, col. 2-3.

It's the guns

Week 18 2022: Social #52Ancestors

Social media. A curse or blessing?

The good genealogy folks on Twitter and Facebook bring a breath of fresh air to those particular hell-scapes.

My husband’s cousin manages a family Facebook page the “Baty Family Side.” Recently, a Baty cousin posted a couple of pictures (one a remarkable tintype of a young man) asking for help identifying them. As it turns out one of them was a picture I’d been looking for for years.

Shown below is the wedding photo of Edward McCormick and Mary Quinlan (many thanks to Amy for sending me a digital copy), my husband’s great grandparents. Married on August 21, 1889, in Parsons, Kansas, Ed was twenty-four, a first generation American of Irish parents. Mary was twenty-three. Her father was an Irishman while her mother was born in Fall River, Massachusetts.

You might wonder about a black wedding dress. White gowns were unusual back then, considered an “unnecessary expense.”[1] Originally, the white wedding dress did not symbolize virginity/purity, but instead communicated the wealth of the wearer or her family because they were pricier and harder to keep clean.[2] Most women simply got married in the best dress they already owned.

For Western brides, the marriage of Queen Victoria and the industrial revolution ushered in the ubiquity of the white wedding dress. “The rise of photography, and of wedding portraits in particular, also went a long way in popularizing the white-wedding-dress trend.”[3]

For Mary, living out on the prairie, it was likely implausible that she’d select impractical white. Born the year after the Civil War ended, she was the oldest of thirteen. She and Ed went on to have eight of their own.

Their wedding portrait looks to be a typical cabinet card with the photographer’s imprint on the bottom front of the card. Located on Johnston Ave. in Parsons, the photographer in this case was Louis Moberly. Louis was not your typical plains photographer, however. Born in Kentucky 1832, he plied his trade throughout the South and Midwest including Texas, Arkansas, Missouri, and Kansas.[4] In 1879, while living in McKinney, Texas, Moberly received a patent for a “new and valuable Improvement in Photographic – Background Tablets,” Patent No. 216,435.[5] Well that’s kinda cool. I can’t say I understand what the patent is all about, but I did find a photo of his studio in McKinney in about 1880. See below - more than just “kind” cool.

Moberly passed away on February 27, 1914. His obituary noted that he was a photographer and member of the Masons, but doesn’t mention in photographic invention.[6]

[1] Maureen A. Taylor, Family Photo Detective (Cincinnati: Family Tree Books, 2013), 78.

[2] Summer Brennan, “A Natural History of the Wedding Dress,” Jstor Daily, 27 September 2017 (https://daily.jstor.org/a-natural-history-of-the-wedding-dress/ : accessed 30 June 2022).

[3] Ibid.

[4] 1900 U.S. Census, Benton County, Arkansas, population schedule, enumeration district 14, p. 52 (stamped), p. 15A (penned) dwelling 309, family 309, Louis Moberly; image, Ancestry (http://www.ancestry.com : accessed 30 June 2022); citing National Archives microfilm publication T623, roll 51. “Moberly, L.,” Photographer Lists, Mo to My,” Langdon’s List of 19th & early 20th Century Photographers (https://www.langdonroad.com/mo-to-my : accessed 30 June 2022).

[5] United States Patent Office, Specifications and Drawings of Patents Issued From the United States Patent Office for June 1879 (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1879), 492; images Google Books (https://www.google.com/books/edition/Specifications_and_Drawings_of_Patents_I/SM06AQAAMAAJ?hl=en&gbpv=1&dq=%22LOUIS+Moberly%22+McKinney+Tx&pg=PA492&printsec=frontcover : accessed 1 July 2022).

[6] “Louis Moberly is Dead,” The Parsons (Kansas) Daily Sun, 28 February 1914, p. 1, col. 6.

Louis Moberly, “Edward McCormick and Mary Quinlan,” 1889; privately held by Amy Bishop, [address for private use].

Louis Mobery, “Interior of L. Moberly’s Fine Art Gallery, McKinney, Tex.,” 1880 (ca.); digital image, Luminous-Lint (http://www.luminous-lint.com/app/image/2165310872637535896433544/ : accessed 30 June 2022)

Mark this day

Abortions will not end, but women will die.

Week 17 2022: Document #52Ancestors

Down, down, down the rabbit hole I go.

The ancestors of my husband who settled in Maryland did so in the 1660’s and all of them settled in Charles or Prince George’s counties. They all also belonged to the same Episcopal church: St. John’s, also called King George’s Parish, Broad Creek Church, Piscataway Parish.[1] Located about twenty miles south of Washington, D.C. in what is currently the town of Fort Washington, the church served members of the Church of England from both counties. One of its most famous attendees was George Washington whose Mount Vernon estate was across the Potomac. Previously lead by Bishop Mariann E. Budde (Washington’s first female diocesan bishop), the church is still very much active today.[2]

I’d found many birth, baptismal, and marriage records for these ancestors in the vestry records dating back to the earliest days of the church in the late 1690’s to early 1700’s. Most helpful in this endeavor was an 1884 handwritten transcription of most of the vestry records starting in January of 1693 and ending in 1805.[3] Bless the person who wrote out all 457 pages, I cannot even imagine how long it took. The handwriting remained perfect throughout and I noted no errors when compared to the original.[4]

A couple of weeks ago, I started reading the vestry minutes (vs. the register). Why? I can’t say, but by page four, I was hooked. At the vestry meeting held on March 4, 1699, John Hawkins, my husband’s seventh great-granduncle, was elected vestryman. I found other Hawkins family members, Stonestreets, Lowes, Pickerills, and others. I discovered that the first minister to preach at the church was George Tubman, another of my husband’s seventh great-granduncles.[5] These vestry minutes contain all sorts of vital statistics and are a census of sorts, placing people in a certain place at a certain time.

While the minutes show that the vestrymen were primarily focused on the church buildings, land, and revenue, it was fun to read that they dealt with a fair number of church members living as husband and wife when they were not. They also spent a fair amount of the local currency (tobacco) on wine. I was gratified to read that in April of 1722, the vestry was quite vexed that a great number of parishioners failed to register the births of their children and threatened to certain inflict penalties (well no wonder I can’t find them all!). 

It’s going to take me some time to digest all the information I gleaned from the minutes (I have over 300 tags on the document thus far), but I thought I would share this great find!

___________________________

[1] The Piscataway were the predominant Native Americans in the area. Wikipedia.org, “Piscataway People,” rev. 01:43, 7 May 2022.

[2] “Welcome to St. John’s Broad Creek Episcopal Church,” St. John’s Broad Creek (https://stjohnsbroadcreek.org : accessed 23 June 2022). Wikipedia.org, “Mariann Budde,” rev. 07:16, 24 March 2022.

[3] “A True and Exact Journall and Record of the Proceedings of the Vestry of Piscataway Parish,” St. John’s Parish (Prince George’s County, Maryland: 1884); digital images, FamilySearch (https://www.familysearch.org/ark:/61903/3:1:3Q9M-CS3G-66PN?mode=g&cat=66369 : accessed 1 June 2022), FHL microfilm 7,835,979.

[4] “Piscataway Parish and St. John’s Parish now King George’s Parish, Prince George’s Co., Parish Register 1689-1801, Vestry Minutes 1693-1779, 1789”; digital images, Maryland State Archives (https://msa.maryland.gov/megafile/msa/speccolm/m0000/m0200/m229/pdf/m229.pdf : accessed 1 June 2022).

[5] The church’s own history fails to note George Tubman as the first minister. “St. John’s 325 Years of History,” St. John’s Broad Creek (https://stjohnsbroadcreek.org/about-st-john/st-johns-325-years-of-history/ : accessed 23 June 2022).

1975 photo taken of the exterior front entrance of St. John’s showing enlargement of the church done in 1764-68. Wilfong, James C. photograph, 1975; digital image, Digital Maryland (https://collections.digitalmaryland.org/digital/collection/pgjw/id/419/ : accessed 23 June 2022).

Week 16 2022: Negative #52Ancestors

When my mother-in-law was alive, she had a great many family stories to tell:

• The two brothers who married two sisters – true.

• One of the two brothers was killed by Native Americans – not true.

• My husband’s great-grandmother was of Native American descent – not true.

One of my favorite ones actually came with “evidence.” Many years ago, she gifted to my husband a silk “banner” that she had inherited from her grandmother Catherine (Bryant) Gibbons Mein.

Born in 1869 in Elk City, Nebraska, “Grandma Mein” was the fourth of nine children born to John Bryant and Catherine Appleby. John and Catherine were English immigrants, he from Buckinghamshire and she from Staffordshire. The story my mother-in-law told was that one of John or Catherine’s ancestors made pottery for the Royal family and were awarded a Royal Warrant which gave them the right to display this banner in their shop.

So, what is a Royal Warrant?

According to The Royal Warrant Association, the history of Royal Warrants goes back to medieval times when the Royal family picked the country’s best tradespeople for supply to the Royal household.[1] The first known formal “Royal Charter” involving the British monarchy and a trade was in 1155 between Henry II and the Weavers Company.[2] The idea behind the charter or warrant was not to provide free or discounted pricing to the monarchy, but rather it was (and continues to be) and acknowledgment of expertise in a given product or field.[3] Today, companies that have supplied good or services to the households of the Queen or the Prince of Wales for at least five of seven years may apply for a Royal Warrant which can be granted for up to five years.[4]

In the 18th century, Royal tradesmen began to display the Royal Coat of Arms on their premises.[5] Formed in 1840, The Royal Warrant Holders Association began to codify rules on how warrants could be displayed and used and started to challenge the many cases of improper use of the Royal Arms.[6] During her sixty-three-year reign, Queen Victoria granted almost 2,000 Royal Warrants.[7] Could the Bryant family have been one of them?

The British National Archives has the records of the Lord Chamberlain (the office that handled the issuance of Royal Warrants), including many records relating to warrant from 1600 to 1900. While none of these records are online, the vastness of the collection might take up an entire month-long London vacation if I were to endeavor such a task.

Because John Bryant immigrated to the U.S. before the Royal Warrant Holders Association began its crack-down governing the use the Royal Arms, could it be that the family story is true and that this “banner” pre-dates the crack-down. What I am left with (barring a trip to London) is exploring what this silk banner is and what it might have meant to the Bryant family.

The banner Virginia gave my husband depicts the Royal Standard, the style of which was first used by Queen Victoria. Todays warrant holders display the applicable Royal Arms, not the Royal Standard. But was that always the case? And even if it was, before the Royal Warrant Holders Association there was no governing body to say what could or could not be used to signify the shop was a warrant holder.

Newspaper article from 1841 describes the Royal Warrant custom as having become a “disgrace” with the warrant being displayed in an abundance of shop-windows of tradesmen “of the very lowest grade of their business.”[8]  But is doesn’t describe what the display looked like. An article from 1838 describes when Queen Victoria granted a Royal Warrant to the spa town of Leamington in celebration of which the Royal Standard was hoisted in front of the town hall after which the warrant was read to the assembled townsfolk.[9] This might well imply that there is no special insignia to designate a warrant-holder. However, an 1840 ad in the Leamington Spa Courier uses the queen’s Royal Arms certainly implying that it is the Royal Arms that designate a warrant and not the Royal Standard.[10]

So, what to make of Virginia’s story? Is it like most genealogical stories in that there is a nugget of truth to it? It certainly had some specificity to it that I would not have expected Virginia to have. My husband’s theory is that it was scarf sold in a souvenir shop at the docks that John picked it up on his way onto the boat. Despite the provenance or lack thereof, we had the banner restored by a local textile conservator and display it proudly in our home.

______________________

[1] “History,” The Royal Warrant Holders Association (https://www.royalwarrant.org/#history : accessed 14 May 2022).

[2] Tim Heald, “Prologue,” A Peerage for Trade: A History of the Royal Warrant (London: The Royal Warrant Holders Association in association with Sinclair-Stevenson, 1988), 7.

[3] Ibid.

[4] “How to Apply,” The Royal Warrant Holders Association.

[5] Heald, “The First Five Hundred Years,” A Peerage for Trade, 20.

[6] “History: 1840,” The Royal Warrant Holders Association.

[7] “History: 19th century,” The Royal Warrant Holders Association.

[8] “The Borough and Castle of Windsor,” The Bucks Herald, 17 April 1841, p. 4, col. 3-4.

[9] “The Royal Spa,” The Leamington Spa Courier, 28 July 1838, p. 2, col. 1-3.

[10] “Wm. Cookes and Sons [advertisement],” The Leamington Spa Courier, 4 April 1840, p. 2, col. 4.

The banner before restoration.

Week 15 2022: How do you spell that? #52Ancestors

As a member of the Johnson County Genealogical Society, I’ve just started volunteering every Friday at the Johnson County (Kansas) Central Resource Library working the genealogy desk. Given my afternoon time-slot it’s a pretty quiet assignment with just a few regulars. In a discussion with a new researcher, I reminded them that they need to (almost) completely ignore the spelling of their family name when researching the records. Even with a simple name such as “Baty,” I can easily come up with a dozen or so ways I’ve seen it spelled. “But it will be impossible to search those different spellings,” is a frequent lament. Not to despair: “wild-cards are your friends.”

For those of you that aren’t familiar with this term, a “wild card” (many times an *) can be used in place of one or more letters in a name allowing you to quickly search for various different spellings in one fell-swoop which may provide even more information than if you had laboriously plugged in each variation one-by-one. I wrote about using this strategy back in 2020 when I researched my Glaeschen family in Wernersberg .

My second great-grandparents came to the U.S. under the name “Glaeschen.” The records I found for the family in Wernersberg spelled the name “Glaesgen.” My German friend Horst explained that in the German language both names would likely be pronounced the same. The available church records for Wernersberg go back to 1688 and the spelling of the name (with the '“g”) remained pretty consistent, however many of the earliest records spelled the name “Claesgen.” Again, this appears to be a matter of pronunciation versus an actual spelling change.

During my research into Wernersberg, I found an article about the history of the village written by a Willy Achtermann.[1] His research shows that Peter, Jacob, and Hans “Clössigen” lived in Wernersberg in 1634. Some online family trees connect these men with my Glaeschen family, which seems likely, although much more research needs to be done to prove it.

______________

[1] Willy Achtermann, “On the history of the village of Wernerberg,” (date and publisher unknown); digital image, https://docplayer-org.translate.goog/36308066-Zur-geschichte-des-dorfes-wernersberg.html?_x_tr_sl=de&_x_tr_tl=en&_x_tr_hl=en&_x_tr_pto=sc : accessed 11 May 2022.

St. Cäcilia’s Catholic Church in Wernersberg, Germany. (Photo: Verein SÜW Annweiler e.V., Archiv Verein SÜW Annweiler e.V.) Just really gonna have to get there.

Week 14 2022: Check It Out! #52Ancestors

You all know the 1950’s U.S. census has been released, right?

Super fun!

The first weeks or so, you had to know some tricks to find your family in it, but now Ancestry has indexed most/maybe all of them. Super pumped to see my mom and grandmother living at 19 Girard Place, Maplewood, NJ.[1] See the image below. My mom always told me that Nana took in borders to make ends meet, and the 1950 census confirms that showing Celeste P. Jackson, a seventy-one-year-old widow from Iowa living with them. Nana told me once that she had a ship’s captain as a border once, but obviously not in 1950.

I found my dad with his mom and sister at 33 Burnett Ave, the McDonough family home in Maplewood.[2] Even though my dad and aunt had graduated college, they were still living at home (he twenty-seven an accountant, she twenty-three a registered nurse). This grandmother was notorious for lying about her age, but not so on this record.

I got a kick out of flipping through my home town’s census records. I found my old Girl Scout leader living just down the street from where I eventually lived and our family dentist on Yale Street (my sister always said his treatments showed he was a former Nazi, but the census reflects he was born in NJ). I also found our neighbors on Bowdoin Street, Vera and Arthur Hubschmitt. Gosh, I haven’t thought of them for ages!

Vera and “Hubby” lived right next door to us and were neighborhood fixtures. They would sit on folding chairs on their front porch most of the day and offered a friendly wave to all who passed. I want to say they offered us kids candy, but I don’t think that is true – they were just a delightful couple who took interest in the neighborhood children. Some of us Glacy kids were assigned the job of looking after them, including shoveling the snow from their sidewalk and driveway, raking leaves, and mowing their lawn. Once when Hubby had to spend a night or two in the hospital, I spent those nights in their guest room to keep Vera company. When I was in college I had a motorcycle and they let me keep it in their garage.[3]  I wish I could remember the car that Hubby drove: some kind of big boat that he slowly navigated through the streets of the town. They went to lunch at the Maplewood Country Club most days and he would drive that half-mile route in about forty-five minutes.

Born in 1890, Hubby was eldest of Henry A. Hubschmitt, a carpenter, and Minerva Schroeder’s two boys.[4] Born a year earlier, Vera Hendricks was the middle of Frederick W. Hendricks, a mail carrier, and Sarah A. Truax’s three daughters.[5] Vera’s mother passed away in 1913 the year before she and Hubby were married.[6 

Hubby and Vera moved to 50 Bowdoin Street, Maplewood, NJ, around 1923 with their three-year-old son, Richard.[7] One thing I didn’t know about Hubby until finding him in the 1940 U.S. census was that he spoke German. Hubby was an accountant for a life insurance company (Prudential, I think) and while they first started out renting their home on Bowdoin St., by 1940, they owned it. Vera had been a school teacher before her marriage having graduated from the New Jersey State Normal School. Established in 1855, it is now known as Trenton State College and was the first normal school in New Jersey and the fifth in the United States.[8] Vera’s background as a teacher probably explains her obvious love for all us kids running all over the place.[9]

When we moved to Bowdoin Street in 1965, Hubby had likely been retired for some time. We saw little of his son Richard who was married with three children of his own. My mom was particularly irked that Richard never seemed to visit and check on his elderly parents. Richard had a son named Jimmy who was deaf and we did see him pretty frequently.

Hubby died in 1979, my senior year in college.[10] Vera then moved to Seneca Falls, New York where she passed two years later.[11] I wish I had a picture of them to share with you. I can see them plain-as-day sitting on their porch watching us play kickball in the street. Such a kind and loving couple.

_______________________

[1] 1950 U.S. census, Essex County, New Jersey, population schedule, Maplewood township, enumeration district 7-410, sheet no. 75, dwelling 43, Catherine J. Maier; digital image, Ancestry (http://www.ancestry.com : accessed 6 May 2022); citing U.S., Bureau of the Census, Record Group No. 29, roll 5834.

[2] 1950 U.S. census, Essex County, New Jersey, population schedule, Maplewood township, enumeration district 7-152, sheet no. 4, dwelling 38, Mary E. Glacy; digital image, Ancestry (http://www.ancestry.com : accessed 6 May 2022); citing U.S., Bureau of the Census, Record Group No. 29, roll 5835.

[3] Yes, I did.

[4] 1900 U.S. census, Bergen County, New Jersey, population schedule, Saddle River, enumeration district 16, sheet no. 20B, dwelling 303, family no. 379, Henry Hubschmidt; digital image, Ancestry (http://www.ancestry.com : accessed 6 May 2022); citing NARA microfilm no. T623, roll no. 955.

[5] 1900 U.S. census, Monmouth County, New Jersey, population schedule, Neptune, enumeration district 137, sheet no. 29B, dwelling 727, family no. 760, Frederick Hendricks; digital image, Ancestry (http://www.ancestry.com : accessed 6 May 2022); citing NARA microfilm no. T623, roll no. 987.

[6] “Miss Hendricks Fair Fall Bride,” Asbury Park (New Jersey) Evening Press, 7 October 1914, p. 1, col. 2. “Obituary Record: Mrs. Hendrick’s Funeral,” Asbury Park (New Jersey) Evening Press, 23 June 1913, p. 2, col. 2.

[7] The available Maplewood City Directories show them living at 50 Bowdoin St. in 1924, but not 1922.

[8] Wikipedia.org, “The College of New Jersey,” rev. 19:49, 8 May 2022.

[9] 1910 U.S. census, Bergen County, New Jersey, population schedule, Rutherford, enumeration district 50, sheet no. 7B, dwelling 148, house number 131, Vera E. Henricks, lodger, in home of Geo. H. Matthews; digital image, Ancestry (http://www.ancestry.com : accessed 6 May 2022); citing NARA microfilm publication T624, roll 870.

[10] “A. Hubschmitt [death notice],” Newark (New Jersey) Star Ledger, 10 May 1979, p. 44, col. 6.

[11] “Hubschmitt-Vera Traux [death notice],” Newark (New Jersey) Star Ledger, 26 March 1981, p. 66, col. 3.

1950 U.S. census, Essex County, New Jersey, population schedule, Maplewood township, enumeration district 7-410, sheet no. 75, dwelling 43, Catherine J. Maier; digital image, Ancestry (http://www.ancestry.com : accessed 6 May 2022); citing U.S., Bureau of the Census, Record Group No. 29, roll 5834.

2 May 2022

Remember this day.

And.

Fight.

Like.

Hell.

Week 13 2022: Sisters #52Ancestors

“Don’t cling to a mistake just because you spent a lot of time making it.” Unknown

To be fair, I started out this week looking at my great-grandfather’s sister, Anna Elisabeth (née Maier) Westerman. The story I wound up with has nothing to do with her (directly), but I couldn’t wait for a more appropriate prompt to tell you all about what I recently discovered.

I have been working on my Maier side of the family for ages – my Nana (née Spencer) Maier was one of my favorite all-time people.[1] A few months ago, I found the small villages in Baden-Württemberg, Germany where my second great-grandparents parents originated: Johann (John) Baptist Maier from Bognegg in Ravensburg and Augusta E. Schweizer from Göllsorf in Schwarzwald (The Black Forest). While these two villages are about sixty-five miles apart, but when Augusta was about five-years-old, her family moved to Wolkestweiler in Ravensburg, just thirteen miles from Bognegg.[2] Since John had been a tailor in Newark, New Jersey, if that was his profession before he left Germany, it might explain how they met.

Other years-long brick walls for John and Augusta were their marriage and immigration details. The 1834 death certificate for their first son, my great-grandfather, Charles (with information provided by his son), states that Charles was born February 21, 1866 in Germany, making him the only of John and Augusta’s children to have been born in Germany.[3] N.B. I am fairly certain that the year of his death on the certificate is wrong and that he was actually born in 1865.[4] Given this assumption, I set about researching immigration records for a family of three and because their next child (the qAnna Elisabeth referenced-above) was born April 7, 1866, in Newark, I knew I had a very short time-window to research: that is, John and family must have come to the United States between 21 February 1865 (when Charles was born) and 7 April 1866 – a mere thirteen months.[5] Easy, right?

However, I never could find them. Ugh. We’ve all been there, but really? 

Well, the genealogy gods were shining down on me as I struggled to write this week’s blog about sisters. 

Here’s a little background about where they came from in Germany.

The Ravensburg District is in the German state of Baden-Württemberg in southwest Germany and the heart of Central Europe. From 1805 to 1918, this area was part of the Kingdom of Württemberg.[6] Many, many miles to any port in Europe, some of the earliest German emigrants went down the Rhine River and left Europe from Rotterdam. However, from 1850 to 1891, thirty percent of Germans left via Hamburg, which is where I ultimately found John and Augusta haddeparted from.[7]

Hamburg became a large hub for outgoing emigrants after 1845 when the city council set up an administrative system to produce passenger lists and passport registers. Prior to that time, city ordinances discouraged shipping companies from transporting individuals.[8] While many records relating to emigration from Hamburg are not online, Ancestry has published passenger lists compiled by the Hamburg State Archives containing information on about 5 million individuals who left Hamburg from 1850 to 1934 (excepting 1915-1919). 

Three things I’d never previously thought to look at: Hamburg; unmarried ancestors; and that they would leave Germany without their child.

Say what?

Yup.

On November 11, 1865, twenty-six-year-old “Joh. B. Maier” a “kleidermacher” (dressmaker) from Bodnegg traveled on the S.S. Allemannia from Hamburg to New York. Listed just above him on the passenger list was twenty-six-year-old “Auguste Schweizer,” a single woman from Neukirch.[9]

The Allemannia was a brand-new 2,484-ton, 313 x 41 ft. iron steamer built by Messrs. C. A. Day and Co. of Northampton Ironworks in Southampton.[10] Her maiden voyage was just two-months before John and Augusta sailed on her. 

Assuming these were my people, I now have more questions than I did before:

·      Where was nine-month-old Charles. 

·      Why would they leave their baby behind?

·      Where is Neukirch? I thought she was from Wolkestweiler.

·      Why were they listed as single?

·      How did Charles get to the U.S. by the 1870 enumeration (listing him living in John’s household as of June 1, 1870[11])?

Taking this “bird by bird,” I start with Neukirch.[12] A small village about five miles from Bodnegg, I am fortunate that the Catholic church records for Neukirch have been digitized.[13] In those records I find a Carl Peter Schweizer born to Augusta Schwiezer, a single woman on 21 February 1865.[14]

I am always cautioning people about falling into “the name’s the same” trap and have to remind myself that coincidences exist more frequently in the genealogical world than they do in the real world. Yet, my gut tells me that these had to be my people. If true, it verifies Charles Maier’s German birth and explains why I’ve never been able to find a (German) marriage record for John and Augusta. But now I have two new mysteries on my hands: why they didn’t take Charles with them and how did he get to New Jersey by June of 1870 

The “why” Charles got left behind is likely something I will never know. The possibilities include:

·      He did go with them; they just smuggled him on board.[15]

·      He was too ill to travel.

·      There was some kind of paperwork snafu that prevented him from traveling.[16]

I actually think the most likely answer is that John didn’t have enough money to pay for three passengers.[17] One transatlantic fare would likely have cost between one-third to one-half of a non-farmers’ yearly income, not including the cost to get to the ship from their hometown.[18] Perhaps they could only afford to pay for the two of them. Augusta was pregnant again so perhaps time was of the essence to avoid paying four fares and their plan was to make money in the U.S. and send for Charles later.[19]

So then, how did Charles get reunited with his family in New Jersey? Could John or Augusta have gone back to get him? While travelling via steamships cut the transatlantic trip from forty-five to fourteen days, it would still be five or six weeks for the round-trip, if they were extremely lucky.[20]

Timing-wise, it is unlikely that Augusta would have been the one to back to Germany to get Charles. As mentioned, in April of 1866 she gave birth to their second child. She had another child in February of 1868 and another in June of 1869. It seems implausible she would go back to Germany to get Charles, leaving John with three babies and a tailoring shop to run. Likewise, I cannot image John would be the one to leave: he would have to have been in Newark to impregnate Augusta and make enough money to support three babies, himself, and Augusta.

Beginning my search anew, I narrow my focus between November 1865 and July 1870, looking for a child between the ages of “infant” and five, likely accompanied by a family member. Only one record (for now) maybe fits the bill. What do you think?

On May 11, 1870, five-year-old Carl Meyer boarded the S.S. Holsatia heading from Hamburg to New York City with twenty-two-year-old Maria Schweizer, a single woman from Meisenbach. The S.S. Holsatia arrived in New York on May 25, 1870.[21]Several items about this record “fit” my potential narrative:

·      This Carl was born in 1865.

·      He arrived in the U.S. before the July 1870 enumeration.

·      Augusta had a sister named Maria who would have been twenty-two in 1870.

·      I (currently) find no birth or baptismal record for a Carl/Charles (by any last name) born to Maria Schweizer in or around 1865.

·      The 1900 and 1910 U.S. census’ reflect Charles’ immigration date was 1870.

·      The 1920 U.S. census reflects Charles’ immigration date was 1869.

What doesn’t “fit” is that this Carl and Maria were recorded in the Hamburg passenger records as being from Meisenbach, Hessen. A market town in then Prussia, Meisenbach is nowhere near Wolkestweiler or Bodnegg, although it is somewhat closer to Hamburg.[22]

Weighing the evidence I have accumulated thus far, and knowing that other evidence might very well disprove this theory, IMHO I think it is possible Augusta’s sister Maria did her a solid by bringing her son to the United States to be reunited with the family. Thoughts? Do you agree/not?

Well, dang, I did get to write about “sisters” after all.

_____________________________

[1] Non-genealogists are always surprised to find that despite my many years I still have major gaps in my family’s history. Anyone who tells you that they are done with their family tree is lying.

[2] Wolketweiler and three other villages were merged together in 1972 for form the municipality of Horgenzell. Wikipedia.org, “Horgenzell,” 09:17, 14 September 2021.

[3] New Jersey Department of Health, Office of Vital Statistics and Registry, death certificate no. 6364 (1934), Charles Maier.

[4] Every census record and his marriage return put his birth year at 1865.

[5] “New Jersey, Births and Christenings Index, 1660-1931,” Anna Mayer, 7 April 1866, Ancestry (http//www.ancestry.com : accessed 19 April 2022). 

[6] FamilySearch Wiki, “Wurttemberg, German Empire Genealogy,” 17:26, 26 February 2021.

[7] Raymond S. Wright, III, Ph.D., A.G., “German Ports: Gateways to America,” Ancestry, March/April 1998, Vol. 16, No. 2, pp. 50-54; digital images, Google Books (https://books.google.com/books?id=9NS5WYRGCLAC&pg=PA50&lpg=PA50&dq=German+Ports:+Gateway+to+America&source=bl&ots=rMI9aSrGAa&sig=qAVEJK0Qei0hExqhrhWLrr1VbFs&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjt4faV_NrNAhXD7oMKHWQYDBMQ6AEIMzAD#v=onepage&q=German%20Ports%3A%20Gateway%20to%20America&f=false: accessed 18 April 2022).

[8] Ibid.

[9] “Hamburg Passenger Lists, 1850-1934,” SS Allemannia, 11 November 1865, entries for Joh. B. Maier Schweizer and Auguste Schweizer, database with images, Ancestry (http://www.ancestry.com : accessed 13 April 2022); citing Staatsarchiv Hamburg; Hamburg, Deutschland, Hamburger Passagierlisten, Volume: 373-7 I, VIII A 1, Band 019, p. 1140, Microfilm No.: K_1711.

. The Allemannia stopped in Southampton on its way to New York (a three-day’s journey) and one of its passengers, a Conrad Köhler, was robbed while walking on the platform near the ship. A fantastic tale of lies, delusions, knife-fights, and drinking. “Robbery by Germans,” The Hamptonshire (Southampton, England) Advertiser, 18 November 1865, p. 6, col. 1-2.

[10] “The New Steamship Allemania,” The (London, England) Times, 4 September 1865, p. 19, col. 4.

[11] United States, Department of Interior, Census Office, “Ninth Census, United States, 1870: Instructions to Assistant Marshals” (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1870); digital image, United States Census Bureau (https://www.census.gov/history/pdf/1870instructions-2.pdf : accessed 18 April 2022).

[12] Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life (New York: Pantheon Books, 1994). 1,000% recommend.

[13] Digitized, but only available at a Family History Library or affiliate. Of course, there are two Neukirchs in Germany, one in the Rottweil district and one in the Tettnang district. Google Maps is my friend. 

[14] "Deutschland, Württemberg, Diözese Rottenburg-Stuttgart, Katholische Kirchenbücher, 1520-1975", database, FamilySearch (https://www.familysearch.org/ark:/61903/1:1:D3LN-WP2M : 8 September 2021), Carl Peter Schweizer [Mis-transcribed by FamilySearch as “Schwiner” Wild cards are your friends people.], 1865. I find that in German records the names of Charles and Carl are interchangeable.

[15] To be honest, I thought of this at first, especially when the passenger list includes a twenty-one-year-old man with an infant and no wife. Occam’s Razor says that it silly.

[16] The paperwork imposed by the German governments was pretty intense, so this remains a possibility. 

[17] While some lines allowed infants to travel free, most charged for children and the discount was not large.

[18] Ibid.

[19] While the actual voyage across the Atlantic has been under-addressed in immigration history, here is an interesting article I found which deserves a closer reading: Del Gaudio, Denise Rose, "I Have Not Told the Worst by any Means. It Could Not Be Put in Print: The Transatlantic Voyage of Euro-Immigrants To the United States, 1841-1900" (2010). Dickinson College Honors Theses. Paper 83; digital image, Dickinson College (https://scholar.dickinson.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1082&context=student_honors : accessed 19 April 2022).

[20] Raymond L. Cohn and Simone A. Wegge, “Oversees Passenger Fares and Emigration from Germany in the Mid-Nineteenth Century,” Social Science History 4 (Fall 2017): 393-413, 404; digital image, JSTOR (https://www.jstor.org/stable/90017919 : accessed 19 April 202). This is also a really great article.

[21] “Hamburg Passenger Lists, 1850-1934,” SS Holsatia, 11 May 1870, entries for Maria Schweizer and Carl Meyer, database with images, Ancestry (http://www.ancestry.com : accessed 13 April 2022); citing Staatsarchiv Hamburg; Hamburg, Deutschland, Hamburger Passagierlisten, Volume: 373-7 I, VIII A 1, Band 024, p. 374, Microfilm No.: K_1715.

[22] De.Wikipedia.org, “Meisenbach (Haunetal),” 13:46, 25 March 2022.

http://wigenweb.org/shawano/SHIPS/allamania.gif

This is a 1875 Hamburg-America contract (aka ticket) for travel from Hamburg to NY. Offered on eBay for $175 (https://www.ebay.com/itm/133617383404?_trkparms=amclksrc%3DITM%26aid%3D111001%26algo%3DREC.SEED%26ao%3D1%26asc%3D20160811114145%26meid%3D081ee2f29a344de1a2d3eb3b068a3b44%26pid%3D100667%26rk%3D1%26rkt%3D8%26sd%3D133617383404%26itm%3D133617383404%26pmt%3D0%26noa%3D1%26pg%3D2334524&_trksid=p2334524.c100667.m2042)

Week 12 2022: Joined Together #52Ancestors

When I look at my family tree, one thing that intrigues me is how my ancestors met each other, particularly those who settle in the Mid-West and beyond. Here’s a good example:

My husband’s second great-grandmother was the child of two Irish immigrants who settled for a time in Fall River, Massachusetts. Born in November of 1847, Catherine (Kate) Fitzgibbons was the second of John and Mary (Finn) Fitzgibbons’ twelve children. From what I have been able to piece together, John and Mary had eight children in Fall River before they decided to move to Illinois in about 1858-59.[1] At that time, only four of the eight were living, plus Mary’s son, Dennis Haggarty, from a previous marriage.   

As is typical for migration at this time in the United States, John went from a “laborer” in Massachusetts to a farmer in Illinois. Per the 1860 U.S. census, the family was living in Lacon, Illinois, and John had real estate valued at $200 and a personal estate valued at $600. Living with John and Mary were their children: Dennis, Mary, Kate, Frank, Ed, and Elizabeth.

First known as Columbia, Lacon is the county seat of Marshall County and is almost equidistant from Chicago and Springfield. The Illinois River splits Marshall County in two and Lacon is situated on its eastern bank. The only way to get to the western side of the county at Lacon was by ferry, until a bridge was built in 1882-83.[2] Back in the day, Lacon had a steamboat landing and railroad depot.[3]

Five years later, the 1865 Illinois state census shows John and family in Lacon, but this census identified the family members only by “tick marks.” Based on the ages of the males and females shown, daughter Kate and her new husband John Quinlan must have been living with the Fitzgibbons. An immigrant from Ireland, John likely arrived in the US in the late 1850’s.[4] The family story is that he arrived in New Orleans and made his way up the Mississippi to Illinois. I have not yet located the ship’s manifest reflecting his arrival, but this makes some sense. John had brothers who settled in Massachusetts (and the family appears to have kept in contact with them), but there is no indication he landed there first.

Kate and John’s marriage license shows they were married in Lacon on September 10, 1864 by Father John Kilkenny, a Catholic priest. John was twenty-eight having recently been discharged from the 104th Illinois Infantry and Kate just sixteen. St. Mary’s Catholic church in Lacon was established in 1853 and Father Kilkenny became Pastor in January of 1864.[5]

Where could they have met in the early 1860’s? They could have met at a church function, or maybe it was the county fair.

The Farmers’ and Mechanics’ Institute of Marshall County held its first fair 1854.[6] In 1858, the local paper reported attendance between 500-600 people.[7] By 1860 permanent fair grounds were established in Henry, just up the Illinois River from Lacon.[8] Various permanent buildings at the fair ground were erected by 1863.[9] The fair held hundreds of contests for things like the best flax seed, tobacco, wine grapes, potatoes, cabbages, beets, pumpkins and on and on.[10] In 1858, ninety women competed for the best quilts, coverlets, mittens, hats, and the like.[11] Horse and mule races were also featured with “high prizes” given to the winners and there was a category called “Ladies’ Equestrianship.” During the Civil War, soldiers were provided free gate admission and in 1865, a prize of a flag worth $50 was given to the best drill company.[12] In 1868, the first-place prize for categories such as the best loaf of yeast bread, best corn bread, best fruit cake, best apple preserves, etc. was two dollars.[13] Second place paid $1. Competition was held for penmanship by men, ladies, boys, and girls (each paying $2 for first-place and $1 for second).[14] The top prize of $15 went to the best stallion four years and over. In 1867, the institute allocated $2,000 for prizes.[15] Sadly, after years of “great success,” the fair gradually lost money and closed in 1896.[16]

Could it be that our teenaged Kate went to the fair and met the “dashing” Civil War veteran John? Did she make a cake that he loved? The best jelly? Or did she make a splash by winning the ladies’ horseback riding competition? We will never know, but it is fun to imagine.

__________________________________

[1] Son Terrence was born to them in July 1858 in Fall River and their next child, Elizabeth, was born in Illinois in 1859.

[2] “Neighborhood News: Sparland,” The Henry (Illinois) Republican, 26 October 1882, p. 1, col. 4.

[3] “Sketch of Lacon,” Marshall County (Illinois) Republican and Putnam County Register, 13 August 1868, p. 1, col. 3.

[4] There is one John Quinlan in the 1860 census born in Ireland in 1835, the same year as Kate’s husband. At this time, he is living in Bloom township, south of Chicago, working as a farm laborer.

[5] “History of Immaculate Conception Church, Lacon, IL,” Immaculate Conception Church, Lacon, IL (http://www.iccclacon.org/p/history.html : accessed 6 April 2022). 

[6] “Marshall County Fair,” The (Henry, Illinois) Courier, 24 September 1858, p. 2, col. 1. Near as I can tell, a farmers’/mechanics’ institutes were educational and technical support organizations for working men, dating to 1821 Edinburgh, Scotland. OWIKI.org, “Mechanics’ Institutes” (https://owiki.org/wiki/Mechanics%27_institutes : accessed 7 April 2022). 

[7] “The Fair,” The (Henry, Illinois) Courier, 1 October 1858, p. 2, col. 1.

[8] Henry A. Ford, The History of Putnam and Marshall Counties (Lacon, Ill.: published by the author, 1860), 115; digital images, Archive.org (https://archive.org/details/historyofputna3742ford : accessed 6 April 2022).

[9] Marshall County Historical Society, “The County Fair, A Rural Social Event,” Take Thought … On Remembering Me (Lacon, Ill., Marshall County Historical Society, 1964), 55-56; digital images, Archive.org (https://archive.org/details/takethoughtonrem00mars/page/n5/mode/2up : accessed 7 April 2022).

[10] “The Fair,” The (Henry, Illinois) Courier, 15 October 1858, p. 2, col. 3-4.

[11] Ibid.

[12] Marshall County Historical Society, Take Thought … On Remembering Me, p; 56.

[13] “Premium List for 1868,” Marshall County (Illinois) Republican and Putnam County Register, 13 August 1868, p. 3, col. 1-5.

[14] “Premium List for 1868,” Marshall County (Illinois) Republican.

[15] “Our County Fair,” Marshall County (Illinois) Republican, 1 August 1867, p. 1, col. 1.

[16] John Spencer Burt and W.E. Hawthorne, Past and Present of Marshall and Putnam Counties (Chicago: The Pioneer Publishing Company, 1907), 38; digital images, Archive.org (https://archive.org/details/pastpresentofmar00burt/page/38/mode/2up : accessed 7 April 2022). It was re-established in 1921. “101 Years of the Marshall-Putnam Fair,” Marshall-Putnam Fair (https://marshallputnamfair.org : accessed 7 April 2022).

Catherine Fitzgibbon Quinlan (date unknown).

John Quinlan (date unknown).

Week 11 2022: Flowers #52Ancestors

Most decidedly, I did not inherit my mother’s green thumb. My sister, her daughter, and my son all have a way with plants. Me? Not so much – with one exception.

When my mother-in-law, Virginia Mills Baty, passed away in April of 2006, we received a number of plants and flowers for her funeral. Of all the plants we received, only one is still living these sixteen years later – a Peace Lily from my husband’s then law firm. I am convinced the only reason it still survives is from my benign neglect. Our cats have chewed on it, I put it outside in the summer when you are not supposed to, and I water it only when the leaves droop to the floor. Amazing resilience in the face of my abuse. 

My mother always said that her green thumb did not show itself until her mother passed away. Her mom could grow anything. One of my clearest memories of Nana’s back yard is the ginormous hydrangea bushes she had. Granted, I was a little kid at the time, but I remember them towering over me with blooms as big as my head. I have tried my hand at growing hydrangeas in my yard where they bloomed for a couple of years and then put their foot down and said, “no more flowers for you missy!” 

For all the years I had known my other grandmother (Mary Elizabeth McDonough Glacy), she lived in an apartment on our block. Little did I know that she too had a green thumb. In January of 1950, the weather in the East Coast turned unusually balmy, topping 65 degrees for several days. The New York Daily News reported that she “gaily” broke a branch of blossoms from her forsythia and mailed them to a friend who went to California for the winter.[1] Apparently, this deed was also mentioned on WNBC radio in New York.[2]

Mary’s grandfather, Michael McDonough, emigrated to the United States in the late 1840’s and always identified his occupation as “gardener” or “horticulturist” on the census and city directories. I’ve previously written about the “famous” Hilton strawberries invented by Seth Boyden that Michael also grew, but I just found out that Michael was most famous for his pears.[3]

But let me back-up a minute or two because I literally cannot wait to share my newest discovery!

 In 2018, I organized a family reunion in Virginia. Two extra exciting things happened at that reunion: we got to meet our cousin Kevin and his lovely wife Chris and I got my Aunt Mitzi (Mary’s daughter) to take a DNA test. Fast-forward to the pandemic where I have some time to figure out what her DNA is telling me. One of her matches is a man named George McDonough, with 135 shared cMs estimated by Ancestry to be a second or third cousin. Thankfully, he has a public tree on Ancestry so I jump into that. While he doesn’t have much there, I notice that his Irish ancestor is a guy named John McDonough, enumerated in the 1900 census as a florist.[4] Hmmm. Same name and same line of work as my Michael.

Well that’s all I need to get me going on John and his family.

John and his mother Mary and sister Bridget come from Ireland before 1860 and wouldn’t you know it, they settled in the same village as Michael.[5] So, what are the chances they were not related? I do some more digging and find that John and his family came from Sixmilebridge, County Clare. Could it be that Mary is Michael’s mother too? And her husband Patrick is Michael’s father?[6] While the Catholic church records for Sixmilebridge tell me that Mary (nee Comer) and Patrick had four children (including John and Bridget), they don’t go back far enough to capture Michael’s baptism or Mary and Patrick’s marriage. Rats! 

Since DNA don’t lie, my gut tells me that Michael and John have to be brothers. 

The big pay-off comes when I find a new (to me) resourse for Newark, New Jersey newspapers. Lo and behold, I find Michael’s obituary and where can you guess he was born? Yup! Sixmilebridge![7] Not only that, but the newspaper uses the exact photo of Michael I had previously only assumed was him. Happy, happy, joy, joy!

 A good friend called me right after I had discovered all this and was at my craziest. Sorry, girl. 

 Okay, okay – back to flowers, or at least pears. 

 Michael’s obit notes that although he “took more than an ordinary interest in growing all kinds of fruit, pears of the fancy varieties were his hobby” and those he produced were of “extraordinary size and flavor,” attracting attention of growers from all over the country who came to visit his farm.[8] The paper further claims that “large quantities” of his pears were exported to Cuba fetching the sum of twenty-five to thirty cents each in the markets of Havana. Maybe this is why pears are my favorite fruit. 

 Base on all the information his obituary provided, I have much more to research now on Michael but I am thrilled to finally know where in Ireland he came from.

_________________________________

[1] Kermit Jaediker, “Birds, Beasts, Boys Baffled as HEAT Tops 65,” (New York, NY) Daily News, 5 January 1950, p. 2, col. 2. 

[2] “Mrs. Anson J. Glacy,” unknown paper, 5 January 1950. 

[3] Cecelia Baty, “Week 7 2022: Landed #52Ancestors,” Making Sense of it All, 23 February 2022 (https://www.makingsenseofitall.rocks).

[4] 1900 U.S. census, Essex County, New Jersey, populations schedule, Newark, Ward 6, enumeration district 60, sheet 17-B, dwelling 230, family 385, John McDonough; digital image, Ancestry (http://www.ancestry.com : accessed 23 March 2022); citing National Archives microfilm T623, roll 964.

[5] 1860 U.S. census, Essex County, New Jersey, populations schedule, Clinton, enumeration district 60, p. 37, dwelling 263, family 287, Mary McDonough; digital image, Ancestry (http://www.ancestry.com : accessed 23 March 2022); citing National Archives microfilm M653, roll 690.

[6] The Index for New Jersey Marriages shows his father was named Patrick. “New Jersey, U.S., Marriage Records, 1670-1965,” Ancestry (http://www.ancestry.com : accessed 23 March 2022); citing FHL microfilm 000494152. 

[7] "Was a Pioneer Fruit-Grower,” Newark (New Jersey) Evening News, 19 October 1903, p. 10, col. 3.

[8] Ibid.

Michael J Mcdonough (1824-1903)