Back Home With the Jankowskis

 

I probably wouldn't have known much about my second great-grandfather Franciszek Jankowski if it weren't for his daughter marrying and then leaving home with his three remaining grandchildren. That his daughter Marianna didn't suffer the fate of so many young people growing up in the old Prussian town of Żerków was unusual enough. I'd already noticed the finality of multiple extended family members having laid their young children to rest. Though it might have seemed young, Marianna's marriage at age sixteen may have been her ticket away from the doomed future which befell so many of her family members.

When Marianna left home to follow her much older husband to New York City, she left behind the small town of her parents' generation. By the time of her 1889 departure, her father would have been closing in on sixty years of age. Her mother, Franciszka, would have been in her early fifties. The Jankowskis' youngest child, Marianna's sister Antonina, would barely have turned eleven.

Thankfully, when Marianna's parents were married, marriage records of that time period included information on the parents of both Franciszek and his wife Franciszka. Though I have yet to access the actual document at a FamilySearch Library, the main details from that February 13, 1854, marriage record tell me several details about Franciszek.

For one thing, his age given in the marriage record provided the estimate of a year of birth in 1830. More helpful than that was the provision of his parents' names, likely Jan Jankowski and Anna Stajeska in their native Polish tongue. Franciszek's wife, Franciszka, was the daughter of Nicolai (likely Mikołaj in Polish) Olejniczak and his wife Josepha. Franciszek's mother-in-law came with a bona fide Polish tongue twister for a maiden name: Grzegorczyk (though that run of consonants only serves to puzzle those who haven't taken the time to learn how to pronounce Polish phonics).

All told, I've been able to account for nine children for this couple, though as far as I can tell, many of them died in infancy or early childhood. Tracing documents for these family members requires not only relying on the digitized records available at FamilySearch.org, but also by venturing out online to websites in Poland, where volunteers dedicate themselves to posting transcriptions of digitized records from Polish archival sources.

Documenting who those many children are will require bouncing between three or four websites, juggling with verbiage in two different languages (neither of which are Polish), and posting those sources in all the places where I keep family trees.

As I mentioned earlier this year when I set up my research plans through my Twelve Most Wanted program, my main goal in zeroing in on Franciszek Jankowski is to trace the lines of all survivors in the hopes of pinpointing the shared ancestral couple linking me with several DNA matches I have at the major genetic genealogy websites. Expanding the Jankowski branch of my family tree may be challenging, especially for those descendants remaining in what eventually became war-torn Europe in the 1900s. As research resources become more available online, helpful tools may make this more of a possibility than in years past.

If He Were Here, We'd Call Him Frank

 

If I were researching my mother's ancestry, I'd have a multitude of records housed in America to reach all the way back to colonial times. Not so with my father's lines. Both his parents came to the United States as children. Right away, researching those roots means immersing myself in what it means to be Polish: to be from a place with a distinct culture, language, and heritage attached to a land which often belonged to someone else.

To begin with, the records I seek for these ancestors were not drawn up in English. Nor, for the most part, were they written in Polish. So when I introduce my focus for November's Twelve Most Wanted, my second great-grandfather, I'm introducing someone whose birth record in Latin likely identified him as Franciscus—or, thanks to the Latin syntax recording his 1854 marriage, as Franciscum. Back in his hometown of Żerków in the old Prussian province of Posen, his neighbors probably called him Franciszek  But if he were to migrate to New York, like his daughter Marianna did, we'd probably just call him Frank.

Franciszek never made it to New York, though he lived long enough to see two of his daughters leave home for the New World. Marianna, my great-grandmother, married at sixteen, and became mother to four children. She followed her husband to New York after their youngest child, a son, died in infancy like so many other children in their extended family during that time period.

My grandmother was three months shy of her fourth birthday upon that journey from Hamburg to New York. If she remembered her grandparents at all, it would be with the dim memory of childhood. Any stories that might have been told about family members left behind apparently have not been passed down to any of my older relatives—at least, not that they've been able to recount to me.

It is into this void that I push through to find any token of Franciszek Jankowski's life through the scant documentation left behind as acknowledgement that he ever existed. Far more than a connect-the-dots challenge, we'll need to rely on records of the area's history and geography to re-imagine what life must have been like for the relatives who were left behind when Marianna, her two sons, and her daughter Sophie took that final journey so far away from home. 

Jumping Tracks

 

Despite best laid plans, sometimes our research objectives cannot be achieved within the set time frame. Such is the case with Susanna Radomska, my second great-grandmother from the Pomeranian town of Lubichowo. Earlier this year, I had thought her data might have been reachable, considering she likely died in 1909, according to a transcription posted online at the Pomeranian Genealogical Association. Though finding her parents' identity was quickly accomplished, my hopes for finding more about her roots—or even my secondary wish to learn anything further about her husband, Jan Puchała of my father's patriline—did not materialize into solid evidence.

With that disappointment, I've decided to jump tracks. We'll begin early with the November selection of my Twelve Most Wanted for 2026. This will involve redirecting our attention from Pomerania at the northern reaches of Poland to a more central region of the former boundaries of Prussia, a province then known as Posen.

In the coming weeks, we'll zero in on the town of Żerków, home of my second great-grandfather Franciszek Jankowski. This change also signifies a shift from my father's paternal side to that of his mother—specifically to her maternal grandfather.

With the spare time gained by this month's research loss, we can also linger a bit over such details as geographical significance and impact on the daily life of these ancestors in Żerków. Sometimes, in researching ancestors so far removed from the familiarity of the places we now call home, we lose sight of what daily life might have been for them. Assuming every ancestor was simply a farmer tied to the land paints a rather lifeless family story, indeed, when life for our relatives from previous generations was likely far from the few facts we can find on the faded pages of governmental or church records.

Despite this luxury of added time to explore, we still need to start with a proper beginning. With that, tomorrow will bring introductions to Franciszek Jankowski, his wife and as many of their children as I've been able to find.

. . . and I Alone Have Escaped to Tell

 

There is a passage in the Bible, contained in one of the oldest stories in that book, concerning the many tragedies which befell a man named Job. One by one, devastation caused the destruction of his business ventures, his home, and ultimately, the loss of all his children. With each tragedy, a breathless runner brought the news to him, then added, "...and I alone have escaped to tell."

Those lone reporters remind me of what I'm discovering, now that I'm searching for signs of any surviving lines of my paternal grandparents' ancestors. At first, reviewing my DNA matches, I found third and fourth cousins from a few lines, but those were all descendants of other siblings of another great-grandmother, who had also emigrated from Poland in the late 1800s. When it comes to looking for signs of my Polish ancestors, those who migrated to America became much like those reporters of bad news in the biblical account: "and I alone have escaped to tell."

This becomes far more understandable when we look at what survives of Prussian records for the provinces my ancestors once called home. In the case of the Radomski family—both for Susanna's own generation and that of her children—so many of the children died young. True, there may still be cases of lost records and the hopeful future discovery of family connections over the generations. But I doubt I'll find many more than I've already identified. The DNA of those unfortunate cases of infant mortality were not among the few who did manage to escape to tell of their generation.

As I look ahead to the next Polish ancestor I'll be researching—likely with an early start to the November selection of my Twelve Most Wanted—I see much the same pattern repeated. Though this ancestor lived and died in a different region of the old Prussian domain, many of her children suffered that same fate. Very few of those descendants escaped the scourges and diseases which plagued my ancestors of that region, as well. Their DNA did not live to tell of that generation, either.

Perhaps, as is sometimes mentioned in DNA classes, I just need the patience to wait until that missing perfect DNA candidate tests. That, I would love to see. But as I look over the records I have been able to find, the ones which reveal the Prussian story for my family, it becomes quite obvious that there were many from those ancestral generations who never lived to tell of their roots. They never escaped what befell them to pass their genetic story to future generations.

Regarding Sloppy Handwriting

 

Family history researchers who have pursued ancestors from foreign countries may have caught themselves muttering under their breath about the sloppy handwriting of the clerks and clerics tasked with pinpointing those forebears in history. As I work through the generations preceding my paternal grandparents, I certainly know I have—if, that is, I've been able to find any documents at all.

The reason for the difficulty in finding documents lies partially with the fact that some of the usual online genealogical resources lack access to actual documents from my Polish roots. I've had to look elsewhere for many of my discoveries, and there is one significant drawback to that.

Many Polish genealogy websites began as indexing or transcription services. While I'm grateful for that resource—it's better than no resource at all—such a situation simply shifts the onus for deciphering impossible handwriting from my own two eyes to the capabilities of a proxy reader. I'm glad for those volunteers, of course, but I also realize what a challenge it can be to read a sloppy hand, even if it is a native Polish-speaking volunteer who is attempting to catalog the records.

Now that I'm pondering whether to give up on October's research focus for my Twelve Most Wanted, I spent last night exploring what records are available for the upcoming featured ancestor. In this case, we'd be shifting our attention from the northern region of Pomerania to a province somewhat to the southwest.

It's been nearly a year since I last researched family members from this line, but I was surprised to discover, in exploring documents at FamilySearch.org, that instead of merely finding transcriptions of records (plus, in some cases, a notice that the record can be viewed only by personally researching at a designated center), the document itself was available online. 

This is a welcome bonus for several reasons. First, I know the names I'm seeking, and in many cases, I know who those names should be attached to. I also know the appropriate diacritical marks that should accompany the surname, and am familiar with the usual way that a quick hand might confuse the issue. But most important, I can double-check what an indexer, weary from reading pages and pages of documents, might have read as one letter, when in fact the letter in question might clearly be different. 

If only we have the eyes to see that handwriting—no matter how sloppy—we can double check what others perceived, possibly incorrectly, and find that "missing" document which referred to our brick wall ancestor. Being allowed to access that document for ourselves can make such a difference.

It almost convinces me to stop my complaining about how sloppy that handwriting really was. At least, with a digitized copy of the actual document instead of only a transcription, I can see for myself what that entry actually reads.

Crossing the Chasm

 

While there may be facetious remarks in family history circles about "leaping across the pond," I'm convinced that connecting some immigrant ancestors to their roots is more like attempting to cross a chasm. That, at least, is how I'm feeling, now that I've run across a DNA match whose roots lead back to relatives of my third great-grandmother, Mariana Nierzwicka.

That, in fact, is all I know about her: her name. I found that little detail on the baptismal record for her daughter Susanna Radomska. Finding anything further, though, has been an effort taking much time for minuscule results. 

Looking at this match's tree, I can see how the Nierzwicki line was traced back to the start in the immigrant's adopted home in the United States. But the few documents producing details about the immigrant's origin in Poland are reports which I cannot corroborate, despite searching on three different databases.

And yet, there's the DNA. We certainly are connected in some way. The question is how. And the answer must rely on documentation. Yet, arriving at the records to confirm what seems to be true is a journey with no destination. There's an uncrossable chasm separating each of us from the answer we are both seeking.

Perhaps it helps to take on a philosophical air and accept that some things we will never know. In my case, it takes on more of an itch that, whether scratched or not, merely gets itchier, no matter what choice of action is taken. At halfway through this month and the immediate answer to my research question in hand—finding Susanna Radomska's parents—the question becomes whether to continue the research path to the past, or acquiesce to the obvious. Perhaps adding Susanna's siblings to the tree should be satisfaction enough for this year's attempt at the Radomski line.

Probing Further for Clues

 

I've resorted to speed-reading my DNA matches. I've examined them from every angle: using ThruLines at Ancestry.com; checking my tests at MyHeritage, Family Tree DNA, 23 and Me; searching key surnames in matches' trees at all these sites. But nothing promising has shown up.

I'm truly playing the role of the genealogy guinea pig this month as I probe further for clues about the roots of my second great-grandmother, Susanna Radomska. I have a fairly decent grasp of the availability of Polish record sets for the time period in question and general location of Lubichowo in Pomerania. But that doesn't mean I know everything—or even have it all at my fingertips.

Sometimes, lacking access, it helps to noodle things out. (That's my technical term for writing notes to myself in thinking through why I'm stuck.)

Here are a few details I realized:

• Some distant Radomski cousins won't be found because the record sets in Poland are not accessible for more recent years.
• Some descendants of Susanna's siblings who remained in Poland over the subsequent generations may have been relocated due to the turmoil of war or, after the war, forcibly removed to labor camps far from their home—perhaps even in a different country during post-war Soviet occupation.
• Some lines of descent for those remaining in Poland may have died out in earlier generations, due to disease, hazards of life, or acts of war.
• Some of these distant cousins may indeed have migrated, but not to what I'd consider an obvious destination; I apparently have DNA matches from my paternal side living in England, Wales, Germany, and Scandinavian countries whose ancestral origin, like mine, was in Poland. 

With that, I turned to DNA matches for one last whirlwind inspection. With Susanna Radomska being my second great-grandmother, the closest DNA matches I could hope for would be third cousins, but oftentimes, the result could be much more distant than that. Indeed, among the 48,758 total DNA matches linked to me at Ancestry.com alone, those who are fourth cousin or closer (2,831) represent a marginal tip of the genetic iceberg. Those are a lot of small matches to consider.

And yet, reiterating the several approaches I've already tried this month—though this time looking even farther—I did run into a puzzling discovery. A distant DNA cousin I found turns out to be one of those few who not only maintains a tree—complete with that often rare link to their own position in the tree—but who had a tree of considerable size. In fact, this match had even included my paternal grandfather's name in two versions: the Polish version, and his Americanized name.

As you might expect, I wasted no time in sending a message. I want to compare notes. But this discovery prompted me in one more area to research. Not only do I need to research the lines of Susanna Radomska's siblings, but—if I can—I need to push back yet another generation and see whether there is anything that can be found on Susanna's parents' siblings.