Fabulous Friday - A Fabulous Find - Finally!

It seems like eons ago, but before my health and life intervened and stomped upon my genealogical pursuits, I had told you about my mysterious great-grandfather and BlackSheep ancestor, Arthur B. Alexander, who disappeared back in 1927, leaving his wife and two daughters in Hobart, Oklahoma. I had always taken Arthur’s disappearance in stride since his mother, Lucy Zook Alexander, had also eluded my grasp for many years. I was beginning to attribute the entire lineage to genetics in a wanderlust sort of way.

Not anymore. I found Lucy!

I celebrate this Fabulous Friday post with sheer joy and yes, a bit of rapture, at this new development. I’ve found people with accompanying documentation back in the 1630s before. How I could not have found my own great-great grandmother was just plain silly. Sheepishly, I admit that I had given up finding her. However, I had forgotten two very important tenets of genealogy

1.  There IS a reason it’s called REsearch. Another blogger said this in a post I read recently, and it’s a huge, huge reminder of why we do what we do. It’s particularly applicable to those of us from the snail mail days, the dial-up modem racing to Compuserve era, and the countless backroom favors granted by the friendly county clerk brigades. This grand experience of tracing our family history has come so far, and changes faster than my teenager’s moods. So much information is “out there” now, and we must not forget to check again – and again – and again – to re-research those ancestors and brick walls we have put aside for another day. I had done this with my Lucy, wondering if I would ever find out what happened to her.

     2.   Let your ancestors speak to you. I don’t necessarily mean in a creepy, horror movie kind of way, although I have heard some interesting “coincidences” over the years. Recording old family stories may not just be for the preservation of the interviewed and cherised relative, but it may lead you directly to the information you seek. We’ve all heard about the “three immigrant brothers”, the “Cherokee Indian blood” we might have, and countless other genealogical myths. I’ve been fortunate to have communicated with relatives well into their 80s and 90s who have not only shared information and answered many of my questions, but have done so with uncanny accuracy. Not all of our elders are capable of this, but apparently mine were. Still, I have always taken their “reminiscences” with a heavy grain of salt, at least until I have the certified document to prove it.

Lucy’s grand-niece, or Aunt Eva, as I have always called her, told me time and time again in our many letters back and forth that Lucy was buried in LaHarpe in Hancock County, Illinois. Lucy’s other niece told my cousin during a personal visit that Lucy was buried near Augusta, Illinois, also in Hancock County. I could find no information online to verify either one of these ladies’ stories, and had yet to travel to Hancock County personally to try to obtain any record of Lucy’s death. It was partly due to not knowing when Lucy had died, or if she had died at all or had been involved in a divorce. I had only been able to pinpoint a time period of between 1900 (after the census was taken) and 1907 when Lucy’s husband, Charles, was married again and living in Oklahoma. Lucy had disappeared sometime during that seven-year period. Seven years can be a very long time in genealogical terms, and I couldn’t make a case one way or another. Yet it stuck in my head that both of these ladies repeated the information they remembered. 

On a break the other night from doing a little client work, and I thought of Lucy again.

Imagine my shock when I saw this entry (without the photo - wink) the other day at www.FindAGrave.com: http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GSln=Alexander&GSfn=Lucy&GSbyrel=all&GSdy=1901&GSdyrel=in&GSst=16&GScntry=4&GSob=n&GRid=51282211&df=all&

You also might have heard my squeals of delight when I came upon this item shortly thereafter: http://hancock.illinoisgenweb.org/cemeteries/pulaski/pulaskicemetery.pdf

Several page rotations, neck stretches, and 104 pages later, I found Lucy Alexander – listed along with her mother, Louisiana Mick Zook, in a cemetery plot owned by Charles Alexander. My cousin, Mary Elizabeth, was sweet enough to travel to Pulaski Cemetery and take these photos the next day, and sent them on so they could be posted online. 

There was my long-lost Lucy, right where those ladies said she would be. 

So, remember to RE-search, and then research some more. And listen to your ancestors. They just might be trying to tell you something...fabulous.

Where Were You on September 11th?

Finally, a return to the blogging sphere for me today after a long and trying absence due to some medical issues. Thank you for your patience along the way. The People are still in the Pencil Box - no worries there - and I have much to write about their lives, and how I came about meeting them. 

For today, however, so many of us turn to where we were 11 years ago today - September 11, 2001. Being a Midwesterner, I have no story of personal loss, no horror like that of any witness, but I remember the day quite well for different personal reasons. Several years ago, I gathered those thoughts and those feelings and committed them to free verse. And so, I give you, "Your First Day of School", written for my daughter.

Your First Day of School

Today is

Your first day of school

Excited that we have

To let you go,

Our glee is holding pinky fingers

Tightly with our apprehension.

You’re ready and your dad is making us late,

As I smoke my third cigarette

In front of the television news channel I have come to adore

Almost as much as I do you,

Addicted because Floridians had trouble with ballots.

What a terrible accident -

A small plane and a glistening building,

But the rescuers will come and

I’m hoping not many will die today on

Your first day of school.

I need makeup, caffeine and cigarettes

To get through this day, I proclaim,

And it happens again

And they rerun the tape.

I don’t believe it again.

I run to the shower

To share the rumors with your dad and

I know you’re impatiently ready to go because today is

Your first day of school.

We’re standing together, once anticipating this day.

Now wondering and watching, I grab another cigarette.

We try to grasp for the gist just out of reach,

Today on

Your first day of school.

My compulsive news habit rides with us in the car.

Fumbling with my cigarette and tuning in for more,

It is not necessary to search for news today,

Stations throwing and blasting it out,

Bleating slaughtered lambs and shouting injustice.

I smoke another cigarette

To help me listen faster as I drive,

And I keep driving on, because it’s

Your first day of school.

There it is.

You’re so nervous and jumpy inside

So was I, but numbness erased my memory of you

For a time that day as yet

Another unconfirmed report was a sure thing.

But we walked pinky-finger together

In the door on

Your first day of school.

A warm and welcoming place,

Your teacher trying to forget outside the walls but

Unsure how strong school walls would be that day,

Asking gingerly in code

About the world as we knew it an hour before.

Moving from what we knew to what we know now

In one swift, knowing instant

One long silent gaze.

We walk away and leave you

There

Against

Our feelings of fear and confusion

Thoughts of betrayal and recrimination,

Justifying your need to remain present and safe,

Normal, we said, on

Your first day of school.

In the parking lot, the planes were stopped,

Buildings burned, estimates not yet considered.

Somewhere something else was coming, crashing,

But this could not be confirmed.

Our government was running and leaving, all at the same time. 

I lit that cigarette I needed and

Ripped the torn pinky fingernail on my left hand,

Not ladylike at all,

But with my teeth

As my idling car awaited

My decision to go, to leave you –

Should I leave you there - on

Your first day of school.

Repeated confirmations punctuate

My drive back home.

The television news channel, my friend,

Incessantly chants the news,

Shatters the dream and changes forever

Our relationship.

Crushing my cigarette butt in disgust

I vow never to forgive it for showing me

The crush and crumble of buildings,

Free-form falling strangers,

Empty stretchers and idle physicians

Awaiting business that would never come.

The day goes on,

Husky-eye-blue sky and autumn beginning.

Not a regular day,

Not in the lives of those who demand fuel,

And find none at line’s end.

They still had not a clue

Not a wisp or taste or flicker

Of the impact

Of that day,

The deep blue sky imprint of that forever day

Which was

Your first day of school.

Written for Madeline, who attended her first day of school on September 11, 2001.

© Krobinson, 10/02/2004

Unpacking, or Who Moved All of My Cheese?

It's been a busy month since I've been away. The holidays and winter break were made interesting as I oversaw the care of my beloved during his hospital stay that began on Christmas night due to an angry gallbladder that was no longer happy residing in his body. Sometimes the best gifts we receive for Christmas are actually the removal of something unwanted, I guess! And what family doesn't like to share during the holidays? I know mine does, though I can think of better things than pneumonia to lovingly pass among my favorite people. 

The new year began, and I panicked briefly when it occurred to me just how many wedding planning items were still "unchecked" on my planning list, but I am happy to report that yes, the dress is on the way, and the invitations will be going out next weekend. Whew. April will be here before I know it! 

So much for the plans I had for those boxes, including my precious pencil box. I had promised a photo of the box, and some other goodies, but sadly they remain packed away. There are some 40 boxes of genealogy "stuff" that I hope to pare down to a reasonable 30 or so. It's a lofty goal in my mind, and it is quite overwhelming, but I've made up my mind that this will be the year. I'm going to start with one box a month, but I have a feeling that one box every 3 months may end up being the real schedule. And yes, there is that much in these boxes!

I've managed to pull a couple of family files and find yet more entertaining aspects of my ancestors' lives. Knowing the who, what, and when is great, but to know that my fourth and fifth-great-grandfathers were winners at the Illinois State Fair is just kinda neat. I've yet to find out whether they won for animals or crops or some other skill, but I'm excited to be able to flesh out their lives so fully. Another ancestor who was the mayor of a nearby town was quite active in the Knights of Pythias, and I have found tons of newspaper articles about his participation in that society. I feel so very fortunate to have had some fairly interesting ancestors, and I cannot wait to share some of their newly-discovered exploits with you here. 

One great thing about genealogy is that there is always something new. Another great thing? Nobody is going anywhere <grins>. 

Stay tuned...and keep the faith!! 

Friday Farewell - A Time-Out in Memory of Christopher Hitchens

The sad news hit the wires, the mainstream, the social sites, and blogs late last night as Vanity Fair announced the death of Christopher Hitchens at the age of 62. Though it was not always easy to agree with "Hitch", his gift for writing essays, books, and whatever else came from his mind was staggering in its depth of knowledge and was of an eloquent style rarely seen today. Always in the moment and never at a loss for the perfect word, Christopher Hitchens surely will be remembered as one of the top essayists of my lifetime.

Tributes abound today, and his Vanity Fair editor, Graydon Carter, provides a touching remembrance of his friend and colleague:  http://www.vanityfair.com/culture/christopher-hitchens/graydon-201112#pluck-comments

I'm not sure what Mr. Hitchens would have said about genealogy, and I'm not sure that he had ever had reason to comment on it, so it may seem odd that his death is the subject here. But I enjoyed every word he wrote, knowing full well that he used every word purposefully and passionately, each bit of verbiage thoughtfully included as if to choosing or omitting a word or phrase might destroy an entire work. If only all writers could capture the reader like Hitch did. If only.

Thank you, Hitch, for sharing your gift. I'll be sipping a scotch later just for you.

Removal of Social Security Numbers from SSDI

It seems that political pressure has led to the removal of social security numbers from one of the most accessed databases in genealogy - the SSDI or Social Security Death Index, and the removal of the entire database from RootsWeb.

You can read Kimberly Powell's About.com article for more details. What do you think about this move, and how much will it impact your research?

http://genealogy.about.com/b/2011/12/16/genealogy-sites-pressured-into-removing-ssdi.htm

The Tiny Cemetery – Dangerous Deeds

As promised, I return now to finish the story and intrigue surrounding my family’s tiny cemetery. We last left off with my cousins in disbelief, earth-moving machines tossing grave markers into a creek bed while looking down the barrel of a shotgun, and both sides believing that they were the rightful owners of the land in question.

I am the fourth great grandniece of Keren Reeve, born in about 1816 and daughter of the memorial subject of the tiny cemetery, Isaac Reeve, my fifth great grandfather. Keren never married, and lived the farming life with her brother, John, for many years until her death. Prior to her death on 14 May 1885, she deeded the land for the cemetery as “one acre, more or less” for the purpose of a family burial ground, a very common custom at the time in Illinois. Her parents and other family members already were at rest there, and it was Keren’s desire to preserve this land officially for that purpose.

In the 1880s, it was still commonplace in Illinois for a document such as a deed to be written, signed, and witnessed, and then taken to the court clerk for filing and affixing of the clerk’s seal. Filing at that time consisted of the clerk copying the document by hand into the clerk’s record. The dutiful clerk in Morgan County, Illinois, did just that, and as far as Keren Reeve knew, the land was preserved perpetually as the family cemetery.

Now we’ve all copied things by hand before, right? Maybe it wasn’t a deed, but some record? Or something simple, like a friend’s Christmas cookie recipe? A phone number while standing at the mall after you’ve run into someone you haven’t seen in ages?  Did you ever make a mistake and copy it wrong?

To make a long story short, that’s what the clerk had done.

I’m going to stop for a second and apologize to the reader for not having the deed images available to post here today. I wanted to finish this story for those who might be waiting to find out the gory details, but having moved not too long ago and being in the midst of planning a wedding (mine), I have not unpacked the most “precious” of my genealogical goodies. So I’m doing this next part from memory in the midst of about 30 boxes of family history materials.

The clerk of Morgan County at the time the deed was filed made an error in transcription. Illinois follows the township mapping system where everything is nice and neat and square. So instead of the cemetery being located, for example, in the NE1/4 of NE1/4 of Section 16 Township 15N Range 9W (which is actually Antioch Cemetery, just down the road) as Keren had written in the original deed, the clerk wrote “the SE1/4 of the SE1/4 of Section…”

So the comparison of the original deed in possession of my cousin and the deed as transcribed and recorded by the County Clerk showed that in essence, both parties were correct (though I have often wondered about the moral turpitude of someone bulldozing a cemetery). The moral case prevailed at this point, mostly because the damage had already been so extensively done. The new landowner stopped his destruction, and my cousins were left to tend to what was left of the tiny cemetery, which they did for many, many years. This spring, I am mounting a huge clean-up effort to bring the tiny place of rest back out of the bushes that have now overtaken it while I have been away from caretaking it. My cousins entrusted me with Keren’s original deed and all of the affidavits and research that was done to save the cemetery and it is the least I can do to continue to preserve it.

So what did I learn from this story? Original documents are original depending upon what the meaning of “original” is. The best original document you can possibly find as “proof” of the existence of a person or place is THE best source to use. It’s important to know the provenance of such an original – who had it and where was it kept for the past 100 or so years? Search, search, and search again until you are certain you have exhausted every angle, every record. Listen to the stories your relatives have to tell, because they may give you a lot of information, and be quite entertaining to boot.

And no matter how beautiful their handwriting, former clerks of the court were human, too. 

Advances in Data Storage - Since 1862

The "Abraham Lincoln Observer" blog from the Springfield, Illinois, State Journal-Register http://www.sj-r.com/blogs/alo/x890736820/Advances-in-data-storage comes up with some real goodies as it seeks to protect the name of our city's favorite son. I thought this was pretty cute.