About Horace’s Mother

When Mabel Martin proudly displayed the antique she described as a Dresden china clock, according to the Erwin, Tennessee, Record, she had mentioned that it was passed to her husband, Horace, from his mother.

My mind automatically wants to know who she was, and how she came to possess the unique collectible.

Discovering much about the wife of George Edward Martin, however, is not easy. Thankfully, I’ve already been provided with Emma Martin’s maiden name—Morris—but not much else to help explain how she came to own such an unusual clock.

Apparently, Horace’s father, George Martin—often going by the nickname Eddie, according to some census records—married Emma B. Morris on October 25, 1882. They were most likely married in Cumberland in New Kent County, Virginia. Best I can tell at this point, George was son of Thomas S. and Harriet K. Martin. Emma, on the other hand, was a mystery.

I was able to find a young woman matching Emma’s likely age—she was born in October, 1863, according to some census records—listed as a niece in the household of elderly Benjamin and Elizabeth Morris in the 1880 census. The couple lived in Cumberland. Included in their household, along with their sixteen year old niece “Emma B.” was another niece, eighteen year old “Mary S.” and a nephew, eleven year old “Walter C.”

Of course, each of those children living with their Uncle Ben and Aunt Lizzie could have been cousins. Just in case Mary, Emma and Walter were actually siblings, I went hunting in the 1870 census for a matching set.

While the 1870 census does not provide any listing of familial relationships, it was encouraging to find—also in Cumberland—a household that, along with an older Thomas and John, included a Mary, an Emma, and a Walter. Each was correspondingly ten years younger.

An interesting side note was that the woman listed as head of household happened to have the given name Indiana. If you, as I had, wondered about Mabel’s husband Horace having a sister named Indiana, perhaps you can now join me in presuming that the younger Indiana was named after the woman heading the household where Emma lived in 1870.

It is possible that Indiana was not Emma’s mother. After all, the next name listed in the household—showing on the page previous to the listing that includes Emma—was for twenty one year old Florence Morris, who obviously could not call the thirty five year old Indiana her mother.

For what it’s worth, I thought I’d try my luck for one more decade, even though by now, it would predate Emma’s arrival in the household—if, indeed, Indiana’s household was the right place for Emma.

In a household in the 1860 census—still in New Kent County, Virginia—headed by Thomas S. “Morriss” and, I presume, his wife “Indianna,” are listed children “Lusie,” Ellen, “Th. W.,” and baby John. No Emma yet—she was born in late 1863.

There was one more person in that household you might be interested in. While there is no indication of relationship in this earlier census, there was a seventy four year old woman living in that Morris household. Her name? Ann Lightfoot.

Could it be that Horace Lightfoot Martin gained his middle name from his mother’s maternal grandmother? And could this Ann, born approximately 1786—still in Virginia—have been the one to pass along that Dresden china clock that ultimately found its home at the New Jersey address of the great-grandson who bore her surname?

Though it still doesn’t explain how anyone in the extended Martin-Morris family came to own a German antique of that nature, at least it connects a few dots and gives us more of the big picture of some related surnames.


Photograph, above right: Meissen porcelain clock from the nineteenth century. Although this clock is not the same as the clock owned by my aunt—hers was wider and not as tall, and was without the figurines featured in this design—it serves as an example. Original photo (including examples of candelabra as well) courtesy of Wikipedia under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License from user IvoryMammoth.

About Horace

While my grand-aunt Mabel Davis Hines Martin may have inherited, by marriage, the antique Dresden china clock that was the envy of her new Tennessee neighbors, I know very little about the man whose mother bequeathed it to him.

Horace Lightfoot Martin must have come into Mabel’s life some time before the 1940 census, for I can pinpoint their residence then to Mosswood Avenue in South Orange, New Jersey. Actually, considering that census requested information on each family’s residence in the previous five years, Horace and Mabel were there in 1935 as well.

Only Horace’s wife wasn’t going by the name Mabel. She was known at the time as Jean—which, I suppose, is close enough to the census enumerator’s “Joan” entered for her first name. The whole Mabel-Jean name thing is something I’ve just got to explain to you. Soon. I promise.

The best I can figure from census records, Horace was previously married to a woman named Bertha, which is evident from both the 1920 census and his World War I draft registration papers. By the time of the 1930 census, though, I’m not sure I’ve found the right man. The railroad “agent” of later years evidently had a number of earlier stints in other lines of work, making it hard to know for sure whether the “single” man working as an office manager for a “steam railroad,” according to the 1930 census, was the same Horace Martin.

Perhaps it is just lack of access to online versions of New Jersey state records hindering my ability to find much more on the man. I did find a version of Horace's obituary, after his death on September 1, 1959, in the Johnson City Press, a newspaper published in the relatively-larger city near Mabel’s home town of Erwin in Tennessee, though I could find no mentions in any sources closer to the Martins' residence in the greater New York metropolitan area.

You know how it is about finding one’s name in The New York Times. And I don’t know the Jersey-version of the Daily News.

Even so, finding the list of Horace’s many siblings in his obituary seemed promising to me, despite the relatively common surname he possessed. After all, Martin or not, how many men do you know named Saunders? Or Talmage? Or how many women have you met named Indiana?

I had hoped, by tracing his siblings’ lines upward, I could find out more about this specific Martin family. So far, no luck.

Even so, Horace Martin’s obituary shared a couple of hints about his stature within the railroad industry in the “local” area of New York City, where he worked in his later years. From those, we can glean the idea that he met with a measure of success.

That alone, however, still doesn’t provide any hints as to how his mother came to own such a unique antique—even if it was only coveted in the back corners of Tennessee.

           ERWIN—Horace L. Martin, 76, died yesterday morning in South Orange, N. J. His wife is the former Mabel Davis Martin, Erwin. Martin was a retired agent for the Norfolk and Western Railroad with headquarters in New York. A member of the Methodist Church, he had lived in South Orange for the past 30 years. He was a member of the New York Athletic Club, Down-Town Club, and held a lifetime membership in the New York Traffic Club.

            Survivors include the widow, Mrs. H. L. Martin of the home, four sisters, Mrs. Mary Hanks, Mrs. Virginia Purdun and Mrs. Gladys Mountcastle, Richmond, Va., and Mrs. Indiana Cecil of Indiana; three brothers, Ray and Talmadge Martin, Richmond, Va., and Saunders Martin, Raleigh, N. C. Boyd-DeArmond Funeral Home is in charge.

Inside the Martin Home

In what was probably a lovely article in the Women’s Section of the local newspaper for Erwin, Tennessee, in September, 1967, Mabel Martin’s prized collection of antiques became the focus of editorial attention.

With my grand-aunt posing as gracious hostess, teapot in hand, in one of the two photographs accompanying the article, she provided explanation of this favorite set. The “unusual tea set,” according to the caption, “is reported to be nearly one hundred years old.”

Not too unusual a description for an antique, really—until you get to the rest of the story: it “reportedly” also belonged to a German princess.

Starting to edge into the realm of “yeah, sure,” the story was saved from fairy tale classification by Mabel’s explanation. Apparently, Mabel found the four piece silver service forty five years beforehand, at the estate sale of a German-born princess living in New Jersey.

Frankly, if I were a German-born princess, I would not have chosen to live in New Jersey.

Another photo in the newspaper article showed Mabel reaching over to a clock placed on her mantel. Behind the clock was one of the “unusual and handsome mirrors in the Martin home,” framed in an “elaborately carved cut woodwork” created in France “more than two centuries ago.” It featured “carved flying eagles” on each of the top corners.

The clock itself—you were wondering if I had forgotten to return to this?—was a “German Dresden china clock.” It was flanked, on its place on the mantel, by a pair of “Italian brass antique candelabra.” Facing that setting were the sofa—a hand-carved rosewood and velvet piece from the eighteenth century—and matching chairs. Complementing these—in an eclectic manner, I suppose—was a teakwood and marble Chinese table.

The list of cosmopolitan antiques continued throughout the Record article, and I’m sure they were all quite noteworthy. What presented the greater value to me, however, was the narrative that surrounded the list of those antiques. Explaining where Mabel (going by “Jean” in the article, a variation on her middle name) had lived during her long absence from Erwin, the article mentioned residence in New York “for many years.”

An added tidbit mentioned, “She served for several years as County Committeewoman for the Republican Party.” While you may identify the South as land of the Democrats, knowing the renegade history of this particular corner of east Tennessee helps show us that this was not a casual mention. In her new residence back in Tennessee, Mabel was in good company with her political heritage as well, and this was duly noted—not a throw-away line inserted in the text at all.

With a litany of furnishings completing the composition—many mirrors, tables, cabinets, china, pottery and even what-nots—the writer concluded that these pieces, assembled over a thirty-five year span, were “very likely the envy of many a connoisseur of antique collecting.”

And the clock? (I haven’t forgotten the Dresden china clock.) What was more interesting to me than the description of these antiques was the description of the people who owned them. The clock (if you were wondering) was passed down to Mabel’s husband, Horace L. Martin, by his mother.

While I may never have the privilege of learning how Horace Martin’s mother received that Dresden china clock, it might help to learn a little about who the woman, herself, was—and, for that matter, who her son was, too.

The Story Behind the Story

As the newspaper article unfolded the story of Jean Martin’s prized antique pieces, the 1967 publication allowed me a glimpse into my grand-aunt’s family history as well. It made me thankful that this mystery relative took a moment to send a “brag piece” in a letter to her brother and sister-in-law so many years ago. I certainly wasn’t having much success finding out about Mabel Eugenie Davis Hines Martin on any other accounts.

The clipping from the September 13, 1967, edition of The Erwin Record was most likely set aside by my grandmother when she received it—not entirely sure what to do with it, but not wanting to toss it. Yet.

Upon her passing, along with several other personal effects, the article—now sans letter—was passed to my aunt. She, likewise, set it aside, not entirely sure what to do with it, but not wanting to toss it. Yet.

Upon her passing, along with several other personal effects…

Well, you get the idea. The only difference with this last iteration is: I already know what I want to do with it!

If it weren’t for the fact that the article was passed down to me via close family members, I would have some concern that the subject of the article was named Jean Martin, rather than Mabel. With some caveats about her name—which I’ll delve into more deeply in a future post—I can dismiss those concerns based on several details mentioned in the article:

• Right away, she is identified as Mrs. H. L. Martin
• Her address is given as Second Street
• Her maiden name is given as Davis
• She was listed as a native of Erwin, Tennessee
• She was listed as daughter of Mr. and Mrs. William Davis

Of course, the point could be raised that there were likely several William Davises in the area in that time period. I don’t dispute that. In fact, one such William Davis may even have been a cousin of the other William Davis. That’s where those helpful middle initials come in handy.

The article does go on to mention that Mrs. William Davis, mother of Mabel/Jean, was known to all in Erwin as “Aunt Cassie” and that her home was located at the corner of Main and First streets. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that tale about my great-grandmother—there’s enough detail in that family story to merit a post of its own, though admittedly a morbid one.

Thanks to that newspaper narrative provided by Mrs. Bede Webb, I found out that my grand-aunt moved back to her home town six years prior to the date of the article, pinpointing her return to some time in 1961. The event prompting her return was listed as the passing of her husband—although Horace L. Martin actually died in 1959.

According to the article, “the genial Jean Martin has been a career woman.” My ears perked up at this detail, and I was rewarded for my attention. Remember that single thirty-something woman in the boarding home in Detroit in 1920? How does this little fact line up:

“…having been with the merchandising departments of Shillottos, Cincinnati, Ohio, and the J. L. Hudson Department Store in Detroit, Mich.”

Some little dress shop that must have been.

Evidently, Mabel leveraged her position from that post in Detroit to snag an appointment with “the chain department store empire of the May Company” as a buyer. According to the Record article, her company’s headquarters were in Baltimore and New York City.

How nicely those align with census details found so far—even the one I was doubting.

The Genial Jean

What mysteries were conjured up in my researcher’s mind about Mabel Davis Hines Martin, thanks to lack of official documentation or vital records, were somewhat soothed over by the fortunate discovery of a newspaper clipping tucked away in the personal papers my own aunt left behind at her passing.

It took a lot of looking to find the date for that newspaper clipping, but when I figured it out, it provided a helpful framework for my grand-aunt Mabel’s personal timeline.

It was the kind of newspaper clipping people snip from the page to send to friends or relatives to say, “Look, I’m in print.” Mabel most likely quickly clipped it out of the local paper—only coincidentally capturing the name of the publication and its date on the reverse—to send in a letter to her brother Jack and his wife, after Mabel moved back home to Erwin, Tennessee.

A half-page article, complete with two captioned photographs, had appeared in The Erwin Record on September 13, 1967. Who knows what the page number was—it got snipped from the enclosure she sent with her letter. Little did Aunt Mabel suspect that her grand-niece would, forty six years later, find the article and wonder about it.

Under the rather pedestrian title of “Erwin Resident has Antique Collection,” Mrs. Bede Webb had composed her report on Mabel’s unique possessions. Of course, each one had its own story, and each story found its place in the newspaper article. Perhaps that is why the author characterized Mabel as “the genial Jean Martin.” Mabel evidently knew how to spin a story. Or perhaps she was just a gracious hostess. You can get the lady out of the South for much of her adult life, but perhaps it was near impossible to get the southern hospitality out of the lady—at least, this one.

In sharing this article with her sister-in-law, Mabel—who by now was evidently going by the thoroughly-more-modern name Jean—inadvertently aided me in pinpointing the date of her return from New Jersey to Tennessee. It was much sooner than my grandmother’s address book had led me to believe.

In her gracious visit with the Record writer, she also allowed me a glimpse into, at least, what she felt were some key highlights in her family history—as well as that of her late husband, Horace L. Martin.

The article, of course, is too recent to reprint without violating copyright laws—but that won’t stop me from trying to contact the newspaper to see if they have retained copies of the two photographs of my grand-aunt featured in that 1967 article. I’ve heard encouraging stories of others who have attempted obtaining old newspaper photographic proofs, with better-than-expected results. It is certainly worth the try. And, as I’ve just seen, the newspaper is still in circulation in Erwin—sporting not only a website but a Facebook page as well.

That is a good thing, for unlike other historic newspapers featured in pay-per-view collections online, back issues of the Erwin paper don’t seem to be accessible through any such means—at least, not any that I’ve discovered. Yet.

This is the type of scenario when a researcher may have to develop a working relationship with the local genealogical or historical society. Finding an index of names mentioned in the newspaper within a date range roughly matching that of my family’s tenure there would be optimal. There are surely many more mentions of the Davis family’s names in those pages, over the years.

Of course, if none of that becomes available, you know what that means: someday, a trip to Tennessee will have to find its way onto my travel calendar.

It’s All in the Dash

When we look at genealogical records and see a date of birth flanked by a specific place, then view the date of death and see that same location listed at its side, we presume we are considering a person who lived and died in his or her hometown.

That is not always necessarily so.

My grand-aunt, Mabel Eugenie Davis, was born August 16, 1888, in a tiny place called Erwin, Tennessee. Ninety six years later, on September 1, 1984, she died in the same town.

As far as that little dash in the middle of those two dates goes, Mabel was anything but a homebody. In fact, she wasn’t even a resident of her home state for most of her adult life.

Where she did live during those many years is not entirely clear to me—yet. Thankfully, decennial records pinpointed her whereabouts, after her marriage, for 1910, 1930 and 1940—but as for the rest of those years, there is no guarantee she remained in the same location.

The Unicoi County census records for 1900 captured her name in the household of her parents, William D. and Martha C. Davis, along with her siblings, “Lumie B.,” Mary Chevis, and “Robie J.” (my grandfather, Jack).

That was the last time that family unit would be registered together in the same household. On October 28, 1906, Mabel married LeRoy Okeson Hines, a man from Virginia, and shortly after the November 17, 1907, birth of their daughter, Stella Mabel Hines, the new household had moved out of the state of Tennessee.

Thankfully, online resources helped me pinpoint the family in the 1910 census. Listed as lodgers in a boarding house in the Adkin District of McDowell County in West Virginia, the civil engineer and his wife were entered in the record as Leroy and “Mable Hins.” With the addition of their daughter’s entry as Stella M., as well as correct entries of states of birth, approximately correct ages, and LeRoy’s occupation, I can say I’m fairly certain I have the right family.

It all disintegrates from that point onward. Come 1920, I can find LeRoy and his daughter Stella living with his mother, sixty seven year old Sarah M. Hines, in Norfolk, Virginia.

Where was Mabel?

I have my guesses—thanks only to digital records and online search capabilities at our fingertips nowadays—but I would have been hard pressed to come up with this possibility only a few years ago. And I’m still not certain this is a valid possibility.

Listed in the 1920 census in a boarding home in Detroit, Michigan, there was a single woman by the name of Mabel Hines. She was working as a saleswoman in a local shop. Of the right age, born in Tennessee with both parents from that same state, this entry looked promising—but I can’t yet be sure it was the correct one. What would she be doing in Detroit?

Looking back at LeRoy’s entry for the same census, he listed his marital status as married—which indicated some problems, since his wife was obviously not listed in the same household.

Putting life’s little mystery for the 1920s aside, I moved on to the 1930 census, where Mabel Hines had advanced to buyer for a department store in Baltimore, Maryland. By the time of this census, she was brave enough to declare her marital status as “divorced.” She was living alone.

Meanwhile, by 1930, LeRoy Hines had left his old position as a civil engineer for the City of Norfolk, and was now living—along with his daughter Stella and his new wife, Louise—in Virginia Beach. He was still employed as a civil engineer, this time for the County of Princess Anne. (Apparently, the information for this census was provided by LeRoy’s second wife, who either neglected to ascertain where her step-daughter was born, or proved by her answers that there are two civil engineers in Virginia named LeRoy Hines with daughters named Stella.)

By the time of the 1940 census, things had changed for Mabel—well, that is, if you can believe in mis-entries in governmental records. Mabel had shown up in South Orange, New Jersey, as the wife of a railroad agent. The only drawback was that her first name was entered as Joan, rather than the shortened form—“Jean”—of her middle name. Fortunately, I can say that I’m fairly confident of the entry, though, thanks to other records the family had of the Martins’ residence, and Mabel’s second husband’s name: Horace L. Martin.

How long Mabel lived in New Jersey, I can’t yet be certain. I do know, thanks to my grandmother’s address book, that she had returned to Erwin by the late 1970s—long after her husband’s passing in 1959. I am beginning to find hints of what life was like for Mabel in New Jersey—living an easy twenty mile commute (no doubt by rail) from downtown Manhattan—as I go through family papers left behind by both my mother and my aunt.

If I had only assumed, from the vital statistics given for her birth and for her death, that she was a Tennessee native who never left home, I would never have gotten any idea of the collage of experiences that were represented by that tiny dash separating those two all-important life dates. Even now, I’m not entirely sure, despite hints of a career in the fashion industry (including, possibly, a stint as a model in New York City).

People have likened the difference between “genealogy” and “family history” to the difference between knowing the dates—in Mabel’s case, 1888 and 1984—and knowing the stuff squeezed into that dash in between those two dates. Just like the well-known poetic description of that concept, aptly entitled, “The Dash,” I often wonder just how it was that my grand-aunt Mabel spent her “dash.” There is just so much more of her story yet to be discovered.    

Meeting Aunt Mabel

Four more years and she would have lived to be one hundred. Of course, Mabel Davis Hines Martin wasn’t quite that age when I first met her—but then, I wouldn’t have remembered that, anyhow. I was still a baby.

My mother used to tell me that, when I was a newborn, her Aunt Mabel would come to visit us and provide home remedies for my “condition,” massaging my spindly arms and legs and, no doubt, advising my newbie mom from her vast store of mountain-folk wisdom. Surely insecure and lacking experience in her new parenting role, my mother nevertheless thankfully balanced Mabel’s sage advice with the more newfangled ways of modern medicine.

As I grew up, I was quite aware of Aunt Mabel despite the rarity of her visits. While I always thought of her as my mother’s aunt from Tennessee, she actually lived not far from our New York home when I was still in grade school. Once, she even came for an overnight visit, arriving (of course) by train from her home in New Jersey—the only time I recall seeing her in our home.

I remember a woman tall, erect, thin, but not quite as stern as all that sounds. I remember being so curious about her, wanting to get to know more about this stranger who claimed to be a relative. I probably asked more pesky questions than the lady cared to answer.

When it came time for all obedient, darling children to retire in the evening, I remember taking that inopportune moment, bounding into the guest bedroom, only to find the elderly woman already getting ready for bed. She had let down her long, long hair and was brushing it out so she could braid it for the night. I found that to be quite a backwards approach—thinking, “Why braid it at the end of the day? Shouldn’t that be what you do first thing in the morning?”

It wasn’t until much later that I discovered she likely adhered to the old-fashioned custom of never cutting her hair, putting it up, as married women of that time did, in an understated bun at the back of her neck—or, if she were feeling particularly elegant, in a French roll. What a contrast to my grandmother—Mabel’s sister-in-law—who bobbed her own hair and knew every dance step in vogue in the 1920s. No wonder my grandmother never saw eye to eye with the Davis family.

As conservative as that may sound, Mabel was no less a career woman than her older sister, Lummie. Along with the letters from Mabel, full of recipes and domestic advice, that I found saved in my mother’s belongings after she died, I also found articles and details of Mabel’s life tucked into my aunt’s files as well. Like fragments of a shattered portrait re-assembled into a mosaic, these few slivers of information I’ll piece together to see if we can catch a better glimpse of who this woman was—and perhaps discover why she chose such a different life path.

A Melancholy Homecoming

Anyone who had followed the Davis and Moore family returning in 1952 to Erwin, Tennessee, from Wallace and Lummie’s new retirement residence in Phoenix was joining in a somber gathering. True, it must have been difficult to have lost Wallace Moore in such an abrupt and tragic manner. But a return to the Davis family home town also accentuated the fact that there were more who had gone on before than there were still among the living.

For whatever reason the choice was made, Wallace Moore—and later, his wife, Lummie Davis Moore—planned to return to their roots at the time of their burial. They were buried at the Evergreen Cemetery in Erwin, as were many of Lummie’s relatives.

When Lummie returned to Tennessee with the remains of her husband, she was no doubt joined by her daughter and son-in-law, Sarah Martha and Cyril J. McKinnon. Lummie’s next youngest sister, Mabel Martin, likely soon arrived by rail from New Jersey. And Jack Davis, their baby brother from Columbus, Ohio, would have been there too, along with his wife, Ruth.

Their youngest sister, Mary Chevis, would not have been with them, though. She had lost her life to cancer nearly ten years prior, having not even attained the age of fifty. Her husband, H. M. Chitwood, had preceded Chevis by nearly three decades.

And their mother, Martha Cassandra Boothe Davis, though long-lived herself (to eighty eight years of age), had passed away six years prior. Their father, William D. Davis, had been gone for over forty years.

Funerals serve that double reminder of those others who are no longer there to carry that newest loss in the family. I imagine, in the Evergreen Cemetery after Wallace Moore’s burial, family members wandered to spot headstones of those they remembered from times past—perhaps to mourn again and, thankfully, to reminisce.

Though I’ve found enough of a stash of remembrances about Lummie and her family in my aunt’s personal papers, there is nothing I can find on her sister Chevis, and not much more than a newspaper clipping regarding Mabel. Even so, I’d like to add to that limited stash from what I’ve been able to find through my own research. In the next few days, please join me as I review more railroad trivia, tales of workplace hazards turned tragic, missing children and glimpses of girlhood dreams of glamour. Each of these Davis siblings—and their stories—needs to be remembered, if only for a moment.