Andy, York, and Tellie

I was excited tonight to confirm another ancestor who fought during the period of the Revolutionary War. I'm proud of my patriotic ancestors, and am continually amazed at men who "guarded the frontier" during such an uneasy time in our newly-formed collection of states. I say that because I firmly believe that we were not aware as colonial America that we "were": a country until after the Civil War, when the concept of the preservation of the Union was solidified. But that's another blog...

I was gathering some data online about this ancestor who hailed from Spartanburg, South Carolina, and I noticed he was a slave-owner. He is not the first of my ancestors to have owned slaves, so I continued on and didn't really think much about it.

I had found a couple of possible collateral relatives to this veteran, and if you have ever used collateral research in your genealogy, you know how important those other relatives can become. If you haven't used collateral research in your family tree, it's 20 lashes with a wet noodle to you, and we need to talk.

So I searched a cemetery just to see the burials with my veteran's surname contained therein. I found a couple of possible connections that I need to look at further, but that's not what really caught my eye.

I came upon York and Tellie (my ancestor's surname).

York and Tellie were an African-American couple. York was born in Spartanburg in 1842. No one apparently knew when Tellie was born, nor when she died. York's father has no burial in the cemetery, but his name was Andy, according to additional information listed.

They have my ancestor's surname. Andy too.

I realized that I had possibly come across the slaves of my ancestors, or at minimum, their direct descendants. That's never happened to me before.

In previous research, slaves owned by one of my family lines were mentioned usually in wills, first name only, and just listed like all of the rest of the property being distributed in those types of documents. I've yet to look for any more information on them, and I chalked it up to colonial Southern life. There was a certain neutrality in those first-name-only people I had seen listed.

Seeing York and Tellie and Andy tonight was different. They have our name, and carried our name through the present day long enough for their grandson (in the case of Andy, his great-grandson) to purchase proper cemetery markers for them in the same cemetery where they rest with other members of my family.

I'm still processing this as I write. But to Andy and York and Tellie...I'm glad to have met you.

Insomnia and the Genealogist, or What Kept Me Up Last Night

I can be an insomniac at times and I'm used to it. That's generally when I read, or play a mindless game on my phone until I can finally slip into the comfort of sleep.

I slept 2 whole hours last night. Twice I thought about getting out of bed and jumping on the computer, but since our cat, Chloe, was contentedly ensconced next to me, I thought better of that and just tried to drift off.

Instead, I managed only to think more, and more, about what my newest research had uncovered and how it was that I could unravel the myriad of mysteries within.

Here's some of what I thought about:

• A 29-year-old man leaving his wife and 3 young children to go off to fight in the Civil War. 
• Dying of smallpox in Cahaba Prison, Alabama after being captured during a fierce battle at Pleasant Hill, Louisiana. 
• Existing at all after being captured and living at Cahaba. Just being there. 
• Having 2 children born during the war, a son in 1862 and a daughter in 1865. Never seeing the daughter at all, and perhaps not even knowing she existed. 
• Wondering how this couple managed to have 2 children during the war to begin with, given that the father was with the Army of the Mississippi and a little far from home. . 
• The conduct it takes to rank up from private to 2nd lieutenant during a war. Perhaps there was more to this man than literacy. 
• Why a family moved from Missouri to Illinois at the start of the war. 
• Why the wife ended up marrying 4 more times after the loss of her husband, and what happened to her children. How did the loss of their father affect them, or were they too young to understand. 

The answers to these questions will undoubtedly lead to more questions, too.

I don't know about you, but this is enough to keep me awake for days. My mind has adopted this family and this Union solder buried now in Marietta, Georgia, and I cannot rest until I figuratively breathe the life back into them.

Have you ever had the same feeling about an ancestor you've discovered? Have you been bitten by the insomnia bug and become so doggedly determined about an ancestor that you cannot sleep? How did your sleep-deprived experience turn out?

Some people would call it being a bit obsessive. Others would just call it genealogy.

Some of those questions may never be answered, but I owe this man something for what he did in sacrificing his little family and his life to join the Union cause, and bringing his story to light is my goal.

It's the most, and the least I can do.

After I grab a quick nap.

On Sharing, Hoarding,and Ethical Genealogy

Much has been written lately about sharing, plagiarism and ethics in the genealogical community wherein we all reside and interact. It's a great community, and a generous, healthy spot in our world where we feel safe to address the trials and tribulations of our genealogical obsession. However, the fact that we are having the discussion, and that the issue has affected major icons as well as the everyday genealogist, has caused some to consider locking their doors at night and cast wary glances at their neighbors as they walk along the sidewalk.

I'm no expert on plagiarism (I will leave it to others more expert than I to continue to address this specific topic), nor do I pretend that my ethics are perfect, but my own experience tells me that our community has become increasingly lax on these issues. I find it ironic that as we strive to provide more guidance, more instruction, and more access not only to genealogical information but to genealogical standards, we find more and more reluctance on the part of some to be cognizant of any ethical mindset. 

We all know, or should know, a few things about sharing and ethics and genealogy in general.

Our genealogy is never "done".
Therefore, it only makes sense to cite our sources of information so that those who come after us know where we've been and why. They may want to take a trip there in person to see for themselves.

We don't "own" facts.
My 5th-great-grandfather, Huram Reeve, was born on May 10, 1806, in Wilkes Co., North Carolina. The only reason I give you that fact is that Huram said so - not to me personally, but to various others who interviewed him. Huram was quite a fellow, as it turns out, and loved to talk about the old days in frontier Illinois. I don't "own" his birth date, however. It is a fact, and anyone interested in Huram is free to use that date as his birth date from any publication of mine.

I use Huram as an example because things began to get more interesting over the years with his information and his likeness.

Photographs can become a sticky wicket and libraries lose books.
There is one known photograph of Huram. As far as I can tell, I'm the only person in the last 80-some years to have found it. I found it by accident in a very old book in a little-accessed corner at the Jacksonville (IL) Public Library about 20 years ago. That book contained photographs of some of the earliest settlers in Morgan County, and on a whim, I looked to see if it might contain one of my ancestors. There, I found a photo of Huram AND his father, Isaac. The special collections librarian assisted me in making a photocopy of these 2 images, as I did not want to harm this old scrapbook by trying to do this myself. I was beyond delighted to have these photocopies and showed them to practically anyone who would stop long enough to look at them. I was so proud of them that I contributed an upload of the 2 photos to an area RootsWeb site. I graciously received photo credit for the uploads on the website, without requesting it, and thought nothing more about it until I went back to the library in Jacksonville to look for more pioneer ancestor photographs (and to obtain a proper source citation for the book), only to discover that the book has disappeared and no one at the library knows what happened to it. 

Credit where credit is due. Always. That goes for what I've done and where I've done it. 
Huram's grandson, John, became a prominent member of Jacksonville also. My cousin and his mother (my great-aunt) had some photos of John and his family, and 2 family photos were taken and copies were made for anyone in the family who wished to have them. This was around the time of the Bicentennial when everyone was doing family history research. I don't know how much it cost to obtain copies of these photos, but I would venture to say it was quite a bit more than it would be today. Being proud of my ancestry, I uploaded these 2 photos to the same website where I had uploaded Huram and his father's photos. Again, I received photo credit without even asking. I then merrily skipped along the sidewalk of the genealogical community, happy that I could have such wonderful photos to share. I also knew the provenance of the original photographs, who made the copies, and how I came into possession of them, all things necessary when using photographs to support your genealogical house.  

Fast forward to a couple of weeks ago.

I will never post my family tree on Ancestry.com. I will only post to a controlled and linked website. 
I'm on Ancestry.com checking some census data for a client. I use Ancestry often, and it's well worth the price of admission. Remembering my ties to the state my client's family is from, I paused my attention span and looked for my family in that area. And to what did my wandering eyes should appear (sincerest apologies to Clement Moore) but my 4 photographs on about a dozen family trees. Family trees done by persons I do not know. Family trees with incorrect information (about Huram and Isaac and others). Family trees with no sources. No sources, no photo credit, nothing.

Not only were these photos, 2 of which I pretty much "found" and 2 of which were literally and physically "mine", posted without my name being attached to them at some point, but credit was not even given to the RootsWeb site where the photos were obtained. They have never been published to Ancestry.com by me.

I'm not a hoarder.
To say that I was livid is probably an understatement. My husband has requested permission to share his views on my level of lividity here, but he will have to start his own blog.

I have shared tons of information over the last 25 years with other researchers from different lines of my family. Most of it was good, solid information, and I admit, a smidgen of conjecture that I have since corrected as my skills have improved. A lot of it arrived via the postal service and may still not be found online. A lot of it came straight from courthouses and libraries because no one had a computer back then. I have met new cousins, online and in person as a result. I consider my own life to have been enriched by knowing where I came from. I cherish the good and the bad (shout out to my Black Sheep). I have volunteered photos, transcribed and read cemeteries, and have gotten lost several times within 25 miles of my own home in the process. I love my ancestral heritage.

This last revelation about my photographs, plus the latest ethical upheaval in the genealogical community, has really given me pause. Frankly, it's almost enough to make a person consider hoarding their information, if only momentarily. Of course, I won't, and I'm actively cleaning up my genealogy as I write this (boy, do I have a blog post about that subject). As I clean it up for proper publication, it will be "out there" for future researchers, and my daughter, hopefully forever. Remodeling my genealogical house is taking a lot of effort and time, but hey, I don't want to be the ugly house on my genealogical street. It will also be correct to the best of my ability, sourced properly, and with added historical context to fully develop who my ancestors were. Chances are, every photograph will be watermarked, too.

Be polite and ask first. When in doubt, give a shout-out. 
I have found that it does not take a lot of my time to ask another researcher if I might use a document or a photograph. Really cool things happen when you do that. You meet a distant cousin, most likely, or someone who shares the same interests. More likely than not, more sharing ensues, too. You've met another neighbor here in the community that lives a little further down the street.

What about those people who don't respond to your inquiry? What about those distant cousins who provided you their family group sheets back in 1981 and have passed away? What do you do about that information, you ask? You acknowledge it. Giving cousin Betty credit, either as a source or even just as a mention in your side notes is the proper thing to do. Most of us didn't get this far without help from others, and they should be given their due - each and every one of them, automatically without their having to ask for it, and whether they are living or dead. 

Common courtesy and common sense
For most of us, all of this boils down to common courtesy and common sense. Sometimes I feel like the crabby old lady, shaking her cane at the kids and telling them to stay off my lawn, but that's not really who I am. I welcome anyone to visit my genealogical house. All I ask is that you come equipped with some common courtesy and common sense. We'll have a great time relaxing on the front porch, telling old ancestor stories, sharing conclusions, and sipping some sweet tea.

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.