Going Easy on the Search Terms

 

Finding Franciszka Olejniczak in the midst of records in multiple languages may prove to be a challenge. There are some things to keep in mind when researching a Polish ancestor like this second great-grandmother of mine. Here's a little "score card" to help, providing some things to keep in mind as we proceed. We've got to go easy on ourselves when researching in this location during the time period which includes her lifespan, from the early 1800s to the beginning of the next century.

For one thing, Poland wasn't a political designation at that point. Though Franciszka and her parents Mikołaj Olejniczak and Josepha Grzegorczyk may have always thought of themselves as Polish by ethnicity, they were residents of a country then known as Prussia. Even reading a brief overview of the historical consequences of Prussian and German rule over what is now the western portion of modern-day Poland, I can begin to understand the possible underpinnings of why my father's immigrant family brought with them a sense of avoiding all identification with a Polish heritage.

Such historical details may lie hidden behind our genealogical rush to find the bare basics of documentation evidence, but they cannot be ignored. Yet, even in the rudimentary search for paper evidence of their existence, it is easy to see the language predicament they—and, by proxy, we as researchers—faced in their daily life.

For one thing, those of my Polish ancestors who adhered to the faith system of their own forebears were mostly Catholic. Thus, from the very first writing of their name in baptism, these ancestors were recorded in the language of the Church: Latin. However, that is not necessarily a guarantee that the priest recording the records was himself a native speaker of the Polish language. A Catholic priest from, say, Italy or France might hear a Polish surname and write it as he heard it, including the phonics of his own native language, all somehow bundled up with the requirement of a Latin record.

A name like Olejniczak might suffer all sorts of permutations with that treatment. Take the letter "j" for instance, and think of how differently it was pronounced by the various languages on the European continent—not to mention the history of the evolution of the letter itself. For some, "j" and "i" were interchangeable. Thus, to search for old records under a surname like Olejniczak requires an understanding of that history.

That would be the hazards of navigating Latin records. Then, too, there were civil records, which were kept in German, with its old script which is hardly read in our current times, taking an effort to decipher, using another set of skills. 

Underlying all that was the fact that, in a Polish resident's own language, there were different phonics and customs for naming. Regarding phonics, a name which in a Latin baptismal record in 1836 might be rendered as Francisca might in Polish be written as Franciszka—and pronounced with a "sh" sound for the "sz" in the Polish spelling of her name. Likewise, her father, given as Nicolaus in her baptismal record, would actually be written as Mikołaj in Polish, complete with diacritical marks which could be transcribed by English-speaking volunteers in our day as a "t" instead of an "ł."

Wild cards rule the day for searches through digitized record collections.

That, however, is not all, when it comes to going easy on search terms. We also need to take into considering cultural naming traditions. In the case of the Polish culture, their language expects agreement between what might be called "masculine" versus "feminine" word endings. This extends to surnames. So, for instance, any daughter whose father's Polish surname ended in the quintessential "-ski" would have her own surname completed with the revised "-ska." In Franciszka's case, her surname did not end in a vowel, so that would not usually apply to such cases, but it is something to keep in mind when researching many other Polish surnames.

All of this blends together to tell me one thing: when searching for an ancestor whose family originated in the area now known as Poland, don't take that search process literally. Use wildcard characters, depending on the usage rules of the website being consulted, or enter segments of the name, like "Francis" instead of "Franciszek" or "Franciszka." And if the website allows percentages of similarity in a search box, slide that bar down from a high and mighty ninety nine percent to a more forgiving number.

Just as I did in October for the other members of my father's Polish family, next I'll jump into the Polish websites to see what can be found on Franciszka's family. Hopefully, there will be additional names showing up in both church and civil records to tell us more about this extended Olejniczak family.

Meet Franciszka

 

At the beginning of each year, when I plot out my research plans for the next twelve months, how little I know about what I might find when I actually get down to the work itself. In the case of this last quarter of the year, when I usually focus on my father's Polish ancestors, that predicament especially applies. 

It was no surprise, then, to begin October with plans to research my father's paternal grandfather's mother, Susanna Radomska, and end the month discovering that not only was I hobbled in that goal, but faced the same situation with my early attempt at handling November's goal, a different ancestor named Franciszek Jankowski. Thus, we find ourselves jumping forward once again to December's goal from my Twelve Most Wanted for 2026, to attempt the impossible with another of my second great-grandparents, Franciszka Olejniczak.

In introducing Franciszka this early, I can at least say I've already discovered a few facts about her life. Mostly owing to her marriage to Franciszek Jankowski in 1854, I can say that she was likely born around 1836, and that her parents were named (at least according to church documents in Latin) Nicolai "Oleyniczak" and Josephae Grzegorczyk.

This discovery of her marriage record enables us to broaden the search for Franciszka's extended family around the Prussian town of Jaratschewo, now known in Poland as Jaraczewo. There are, as it turns out, other records linked to that Olejniczak surname which might be helpful guides in this pursuit.

First, however, it might be necessary to review a few details, tomorrow, about Polish research in general before we proceed with Franciszka's life story.

Maybe his Wife Will Tell

 

It's been a month of mostly fruitless searching. After realizing, two weeks in, that no more records were materializing for my Twelve Most Wanted focus for October—my second great-grandmother Susanna Radomska—I jumped forward to my November candidate. Again, two weeks in, and I realized there was nothing more to locate among documents in Poland for a different second great-grandparent, Franciszek Jankowski.

Here we are, wrapping up the shards of crashed research dreams for both October and November, and I'm wondering, "Now what?" That's when I realized: if I can't find anything more on Franciszek, maybe his wife will tell what became of the missing family pieces.

Fortunately, Franciszek's wife Franciszka was already my selection for the last of my Twelve Most Wanted research plans for 2026. Yes, I know: even though we just turned back our clocks, that doesn't make the month jump forward to December. But since I'm now on a roll with Polish records, it makes sense to broaden the search on this couple and examine the other side of that family.

With that, tomorrow we'll begin with an official introduction to Franciszka Olejniczak. But before we entirely close the books on this year's attempt at learning more about her husband, we need to recap what still remains to be done, so that the next time I tackle Franciszek Jankowski, I'll be primed and poised at the starting line for a new month's research sprint.

My main unanswered question for Franciszek this month was what became of all his children. Other than the two daughters who migrated to the American state of New York and the one daughter who married and remained in Poland, I have yet to discover what became of all the other children in this immediate family. On my next attempt at researching this family, I'll want to find documentation for each of the other six children.

In addition, I'll want to find records regarding his daughter Antonina Jankowska and her husband Josef Karcz and all their children—at least the seven for whom I have found birth or baptismal records. I want to know whether any of those children eventually followed their aunts and uncles to the New World. Or, if remaining in Poland, whether they lived to adulthood and eventually raised families of their own. I also want to know if, among those Jankowski descendants, there are any DNA matches whom I have yet to identify.

Most of that wish list will require one of two items. The one item will be discovery and digitization of baptismal, marriage, and death records for years earlier than the few spotty glimpses I've managed to catch of the older members of this family. An actual birth record for Franciszek himself, for instance, would help by confirming the names of his parents, as I suspect his mother's maiden name may have been entered in error on his marriage record. Finding siblings for Franciszek might be assisted by having that correct mother's maiden name, too.

The second item I'll need will be retrieval of records more recent than the early 1900s. This will particularly help in tracing the younger children of Franciszek and Franciszka, as well as the next generation with daughter Antonina's children.

All this may take time to find its way onto online resources, especially if the only resource will come from volunteer-driven genealogy websites in Poland, itself. Those sites have been an immense help to me so far, and I can see how those volunteers have brought even more records online than I had found in past research sessions. I'm hoping the trend continues, so that the next time I revisit this research question, there will be ample resources to check for answers.

Until then, it's on to December's challenge, a month early. We'll meet Franciszka Olejniczak tomorrow.

A Scary Thought

 

I had a scary thought this month as I was banging my head against an immovable ancestral brick wall—and no, it wasn't scary simply on account of Halloween. It's a thought that has been rising up like a spectre, even back as early as the summer months when I was struggling with my father-in-law's Irish forebears, and even more so, now that I seem to make no headway on my Polish roots.

That thought has to do with the ebb and flow of interest in genealogy, not just for myself, but for all the people whom we, as leaders of genealogical societies, hope to entice as members. While yes, there are many people who become interested in discovering more about their family's history, and some who even express that interest by joining local or state genealogical societies, their continued interest eventually wanes. 

I know that when I brainstorm with other board members of genealogical societies about dwindling membership participation, we often end up fixing the blame on external factors. Some say we're not visible "enough" on social media. Or that we meet at the wrong hours of the day or week. Maybe that we're not "relevant" to younger potential members. Or that potential members can get everything they need or want by researching their family online at the many websites designed for that purpose.

Whatever the explanations that society leaders come up with, I think they are losing sight of one point: that the trajectory of a person's pursuit of family history can have a far shorter range than we expect.

For those of us fanatics devoted to chasing our family's stories, we think everyone, once started on this path, will become addicted and never give up the pursuit. Perhaps for someone like me, the one who claims I was born wanting to know, that desire will never fade. But not everyone is like that. Some people's interest peaks when they get married, or have their first child. Some people never thought they'd be interested at all, until a sibling or cousin talked them into taking a DNA test or shared a surprising discovery from their own research. 

For people like that, interest in genealogy sparks, then increases, then experiences a decline. Maybe even an ebb and flow of interest, such as I had when teaching full time; holiday breaks and summer vacations became my only time to research.

But I'm realizing there is another reason that can choke out that genealogical interest. That reason has to do with the very experiences I've been having the past few months—and in an odd way, is a reaction to the oft-asked question, "How far back have you gone?"

Face it, when you can't go any farther, when there are no more records to access and the trail goes cold—not just for your kazillionth great-grandparent, but for everyone living in that same village or, worse, for the entire country—what else is left to do? That's where the interest lags.

Frankly, I suspect that many of our own society's longstanding members haven't tried their hand at researching their ancestors for years. They remain loyal to our society simply because they wish to support the cause, or help others who are just starting, or like the vibe of talking about someone else's genealogy "happy dance."

To me, the more important question is, why did they stop researching? And the scary thought is, what happens to genealogical organizations when members realize they have no more to find about their family history? Unless our members remain willing to be available to help others still excited about their research path, it's no surprise that so many have talked about dwindling membership numbers at genealogical societies.

And that's a scary thought. 

Another American Line

 

When searching for descendants of my second great-grandfather Franciszek Jankowski, there is one more line I should mention: the line of descent that leads to my own branch of the family. 

Franciszek had another daughter who had headed to America from their Prussian village of Żerków: Marianna. Actually, years before her sister Stanisława married Franciszek Janczak and moved to Buffalo, New York, Marianna had made the journey to New York City—and stayed there.

The trip, taken in 1889, brought Marianna from Hamburg in Germany, along with her three surviving children, Jan, Sofia, and Mieczyslaus. Presumably, Marianna's husband, Anton Laskowski, had taken that same route nearly two years earlier, if I've found the right passenger list for his crossing to New York.

Anton's voyage in 1887 marked the same year as their youngest son's passing. With so many deaths in the extended family leading up to that year, I imagine Marianna's husband decided enough was enough, and went looking for a way to provide a better life for his family. I can also presume that Anton made the voyage along with others from his village—or possibly had received information from family members or close friends who had made that same journey before him. There was likely news of jobs to be had and, hopefully, better living conditions.

Life in America brought varying outcomes for each of the three Laskowski children. Jan, the oldest, took on the Americanized name John, and within twenty years of his arrival in New York City, found himself a bride born in New Jersey of Polish immigrant parents. The two went on to raise seven children, six of whom lived to adulthood—a wry reversal of the fate that might have faced them, should their parents have remained in Poland.

Second-born Mieczyslaus, not quite seven at the time of the family's big trans-Atlantic adventure, was quick to adapt to his new home. Not only did he choose to change his given name—at first, using the family's nickname for him, Michko, then taking on his American identity with the name Michael—but unlike his older brother, he eventually shortened his obvious Polish surname to a more nondescript Lasko, as can be seen on his application for a marriage license on April 13, 1909.

The Laskowski's third-born child became known as Sophie in New York, a place she likely remembered far better than her native Żerków, a dim memory to the mind of the three year old who left home with her family. Like her older brother John, Sophie chose to marry a fellow Polish immigrant, but even that choice led to a tangled research project for family members, for it was he who wished to disguise his surname, for reasons the family still doesn't know, by taking on a totally unrelated, dissimilar surname. Those of his grandchildren who remembered him never could coax him into telling about his family's past. It's only been recently that research has led to telltale records to piece together fragments of his family history.

From the possible brick wall roadblocks that these immigrant changes could have incurred, a wide variety of online resources has allowed us to piece together the generations leading to Marianna Jankowska, the oldest of Franciszek's daughters who left home for America. For Marianna's story, as well as that of her sister Stanisława, I suspect much of the details we've found have been owing to the fact that they left Poland for America. It is far easier for my family to research our Polish ancestors here, where records are kept in the language we understand—English—than it has been to determine the right record has been found in Poland, if it can be found at all. Progress has been made, thanks to the volunteer efforts of researchers transcribing Polish records at websites like BaSIA and PTG, but there are still many gaps.

Now that we are at the end of the month, the question becomes, "Now what?" For my Twelve Most Wanted for 2026, we've used this one month of October to attempt researching not just one but two different ancestors. With Franciszek Jankowski being the selection for November, I haven't yet begun the new month when I've already run out of options. It's time to re-examine the research plan and see whether we need to set a new course for the upcoming month.

Your Family Tree Tells a Story. Does it Make Sense?

Outlining the main events of your ancestors' lives on a pedigree chart may help to gain the big picture of where you've come from and how you got here. And creating that pedigree chart, essentially, is what we do, even if we use resources such as the major genealogy programs online. Pedigree charts and family group records, whether analog or digital, are handy for guiding us as we enter names and dates. Everything from birth through death has a designated line on the form. The routine of filling in these details, generation after generation, has a certain calming sense about it: we know what we should be looking for next.

That orderliness has a downside, too. It lulls us into losing sight of the big picture as it gently eases us along to the next step. The big picture, though, is that your family tree actually tells a story. It's a story about where each ancestor came from and where life brought them, in the end. It reveals gaps in the pedigree narrative which, jibed with history timelines, can make us realize the troubles our ancestors lived through—and survived to tell of it. 

The stories are, of course, the foundational aspect of family history that first drew me to begin writing this blog. I'm convinced that every family has a story to tell. I want to preserve those stories which have been passed down to me, first in the outline form of pedigree charts and family group records, but also through narratives, newspaper reports, documents, letters, and photographs.

As I'm struggling my way through a dearth of such tokens in my father's Polish heritage, I'm taking time to check out several details I wouldn't otherwise have given so much thought. I'm taking a closer look at DNA matches and even people whose trees, Ancestry.com tells me, contain the same ancestor as I'm attempting to research right now. I look, not because I want to copy any details from the tree itself, but to confirm whether we are indeed a match, and if so, whether the creator of that family map happens to be a DNA cousin of mine.

In the process, I've come to realize one thing. And no, it isn't that other people have messy trees. Just as much as that may be obvious in some cases from one single glance, it may also become apparent that another researcher has exquisitely taken pains to accurately reflect far more of that family's story than I'd ever hope to find.

The main detail I notice, as I take a look around publicly accessible trees at places like Ancestry or MyHeritage, is the disconnects apparent in a family tree's story. Yes, that family tree, just like mine, tells a story, but for some trees, the story simply does not make sense.

We can all agree that such glaring errors as the mother being born after the daughter's arrival in the family are obvious clerical errors. Not entering a married woman by her maiden name in a pedigree chart may just mean a newbie trying her best who still needs to learn a bit more—or perhaps missing the fact that a click on a document overlaid the married name on the field where we had previously inserted the correct entry.

But there are some other details in a family tree which simply don't make sense. The detail of a woman married in Germany who, less than a year later, gives birth in midwestern North America, and yet is back in Germany for the arrival of her second-born child needs some additional explanation. Sure, there might be a story there. We just want to know more about such details.

I'm struggling with that right now as I explore a Polish couple who became American immigrants before the arrival of their third child. Due to what I suspect is a case of name twins, the second born son, subsequently using an Americanized version of his Polish given name, showed up in records in two different states. The birth date given in each record is not exactly the same, but close enough to make one wonder about clerical errors in record keeping.

I spotted that detail, and it has given me grief ever since. Several breathlessly-arriving hints reveal trees which have the man in one state, other trees showing our name twin in the state where I have him, and a third set of trees trying to merge the two into one individual, a contortion which doesn't seem to work. Surely, there is a story for each of these name twins. But I'm not sure the "story" being told by some of the proposed matching family trees belongs to my relative. In some cases, the story just doesn't make sense.

The experience certainly sensitizes me to the inevitable result that each of our family trees, no matter how full or empty, can tell a story. And stories are great—at least, that's my opinion. Our pedigree chart guides us through an ancestor's life story, and, if we post a tree for others' eyes, that chart tells others that story, too. But there is one crucial detail to a story: no matter how wild or incredible the story arc about an ancestor's life may seem, in the end, it still needs to make sense to the reader.

Another Daughter Leaves Home

 

Sticking to one's research protocol may be a wise approach, but it doesn't always keep us busy for as long as we presumed. The end of the road came up so quickly when I stuck to my plan of following the one Jankowski daughter remaining in Poland. The task brought me to the early 1900s, following the documentation I could obtain through guidance from the Polish website BaSIA. In fact, Franciszek Jankowski's daughter Antonina gave birth to her youngest son, Victor Karcz, in 1913. And that was the last document I could find in the archival collection for that Jankowski daughter.

Finding Polish descendants still living in their native land is only one part of my goal for this coming month, though. Franciszek Jankowski actually had two other daughters who did emigrate. One, of course, was my own great-grandmother, Marianna, who left her home for New York City in 1889. The other daughter married and also sailed to New York, though that daughter headed for upstate New York and the western region around Buffalo.

That other immigrant daughter was Stanisława. Eight years younger than her sister Marianna, Stanisława married Franz Janczak in 1894, according to records kept at the government office at Żerków. Two of their children were born there, as well: Leon in 1899, and Władysław in 1901.

And then, they left home for America.

Tracing the Janczak branch of the Jankowski family has been far easier than seeking those descendants who remained in Poland. There was no telling what the Janczak family would face upon their decision to leave home—but then, there was no way of knowing what would befall those who stayed behind. When I fail to find any records for the Jankowskis remaining in Poland, my mind plays through all the possible results. Early death, succumbing to the many diseases which seemed to fall on so many of the young ones? Possible death through ravages of war, either before 1918 or in the 1940s? Deportation to work camps somewhere else in the region or even farther removed? (Hey, I just found a DNA match who lives in Uzbekistan!)

I'll still be pondering that question, searching for possibilities in newspapers and in DNA matches. But for now, I'll be considering the Janczak branch of the family, up in Buffalo, New York. Perhaps they weren't the only family members to migrate there.