On the Second Day of Christmas

On a day when most Americans are ready to box it up and put it all away for another year—some people going so far as to kick their worn out Christmas tree to the curb for trash pickup the next morning—our family is thinking of heading the other way. We are, after all, expecting "Christmas" visitors in the next week—not to mention, one member of our family just spent three weeks of the Christmas season halfway around the world in a place where Christmas is rarely, if ever, mentioned. We are not yet ready to call it quits on Christmas.

We are, in fact, considering heading in the opposite direction. The "Twelve Days of Christmas" sound good to us. Well...at least the second day.

Borrowing from the mother country of our colonial roots, I'm thinking here of Boxing Day, the traditional "second day of Christmas" when the custom is to remember those beside our extended family with gifts of holiday cheer. While not a custom in the United States, it is still part of the culture in English-speaking countries around the world, including, of course, the United Kingdom, Canada, New Zealand, most of Australia, and in form if not name, in Ireland as well as some unexpected, non-English-speaking places like Germany, Poland, the Netherlands and the Scandinavian countries.

While the Black-Friday-styled shopping frenzy and the sports extravaganzas of Boxing Day don't particularly attract me, I do like the sentiment behind the origin of the day: the customary thank-you gift for tradespeople and others whose service made an appreciated difference throughout the year. A remembrance on at least this one day seems fitting. And after spending a day gorging on the gifts we give each other in a family with no lack, it oddly brings more joy to go out and find those workers who make life a little brighter in their own small way—the baristas at the coffee hangout, the small business owners at the local shops we frequent. These are the people who go out of their way to add that special little touch to our purchases, or who remember our names and greet us as we come in the door to their establishment. These are the ones who manage to transform this impersonal city living back into the cozy personality of life lived in the villages of bygone years. I like that personal touch.

If you haven't had the tradition of Boxing Day in your family, give it a try to introduce your own personal version of the holiday tradition. Go out and find a way to bestow a small gift of thanks to someone. If nothing else, find a way to bestow a random act of genealogical kindness via your laptop from the comfort of your own home. It adds to the afterglow of Christmas to have just one more day to extend that joy to someone else. 

Above: "Christmas Eve," undated chromolithography by Philadelphia printmaker Joseph C. Hoover & Sons; courtesy of United States Library of Congress via Wikipedia; in the public domain.

Coming to Terms With Ancestral Occupations

It's Labor Day here in the United States. Time to think of occupations—of our ancestors, of course. Time to muse over our great-greats who had no notion of what it's like to code for computers or delve into DNA. When we think of our ancestors, we think of people who lived in a simpler time, when those who weren't farmers were butchers, bakers or capillaire makers.

Wait. What?

I can't count how many census records I've searched through and noticed the occupation listed as farmer. It seems even my doctor and lawyer ancestors preferred to have themselves counted as farmers. But for those whose ancestors came up with more interesting ways to make a living, you might find yourself needing a guide to decipher those occupational callings.

For instance, as recent as an 1821 will in London, England, a gentleman was listed as being a capillaire maker. If this were my relative, I'd be scrambling to Google the term, of course. But in addition to that, I've found there are a few (somewhat) reliable sources for antiquated occupational terms that you might find of interest.

Thanks to Google, I discovered that capillaire was originally "a water-clear syrup originally flavored with dried maidenhair fern"—though later with "orange-flower water"—used by confectioners. I used to love having maidenhair ferns in my office—at least until I discovered by their dry appearance that they didn't appreciate my purple thumb. If only I had known: I could have gone into the capillaire-making business.

Despite what I was able to confirm via Google, though, my original discovery of the term capillaire came from a set of pages listing obscure and outdated occupational terms, found on the website of Random Acts of Genealogical Kindness. Even that was found courtesy of Google. It pays to come to terms with a great search engine.

Now that you know my secret source, if someone plies you with the question, "Which is a more important position: postilion or prothonotary?" you can head for such handy lists as that or, for those with a British Isles background, the occupational listing at the Hall Genealogy Website. Even Cyndi's List has a list of links for those researching odd or outdated occupational terms.

However, no matter what online resource you use, remember the "buyer beware" warning, even though this information comes to us, free of charge. With just a cursory glance at some of the pages in these collections, I was able to detect mistakes. Prothonotary, for instance, was listed as "prothonary" in the RAOGK website, and postilion evidently has more than one spelling—as well as definition variant. I've found it's always a good policy to take the precaution of googling any unfamiliar term found in an otherwise unvetted resource.

So, whether your ancestor was a beetler, a barker, or candlestick maker, don't just settle for transcribing an unfamiliar term into your genealogical database. Take some time to look it up. There may be riches to be discovered as the definition opens up an unfamiliar world to you—the world of your ancestors' lifetime and a resource which might well have become the ancient basis for your family's surname, as well. 

The Strange Ways of Cousin Bait

"Cousin bait" can work in mysterious ways. We post blogs and chat on online genealogical forums and fling our family surnames far and wide on social media...and receive nary a query about our ancestors. Just when we give up and decide to hunker down in our genea-caves to do some solitary research, out of the blue comes a little nibble of interest.

I got my latest contact via the messaging system at Ancestry.com. Someone had found my maternal family tree through a search for a specific couple in the Meriwether line. Because I've been doing everything possible to help connect distant relatives—not to mention, potential DNA matches—with the right portion of my extended tree, it includes doing what so many now call "reverse genealogy," seeking descendants of specific ancestor lines.

Needless to say, since my Meriwether ancestors go so far back in time—remember, this is the speculative connection I discussed during the past two weeks—that means a lot of lines of descendants have been added to my tree over the last several months. Enough, that is, to help locate the fourth cousin connections which seem to populate my match list at Family Tree DNA.

So when I got a note via the Ancestry messaging system, inquiring about one Esmonde Meriwether, born 1894 in Montgomery, Alabama, it was referencing someone who was the husband of my second cousin, thrice removed.

Not anyone I knew personally, you see.

The situation was this: the woman writing me explained, first of all, that she was not, herself, related to the Meriwether line. However, she was hoping I could help her connect to family who was more closely related to Esmonde and his wife Cornelia Meriwether (yes, a Meriwether married a Meriwether).

As it so often happens, this woman—Pat, an active genealogical researcher for over a decade—thankfully had a son who knew his mother's passion for family history. This son happened to be well known in his city for his home repair skills. A house in his own neighborhood had recently been sold and was in need of some rehab work. The new owner called this man in for assistance.

When Pat's son arrived at the property, he found it empty except for one small detail: a box of old photographs. The new homeowner told him he could have them, if he wanted.

Fortunately, Pat's son remembered his mother's penchant for genealogical research and gave her a call. He suggested she "might find someone that would be interested."

Interested? Of course! You know we all would be. After sending a surname-free photo album back to Ireland, this should be easy. Right?

The only identifying marks on the photos were the names of the Meriwether couple, thankfully named in one of the photos. I offered to share the photos here on A Family Tapestry, and my correspondent was certainly willing to let me do so—except that something happened before we could get to that point.

She started doing her own research.

And—you guessed it—she found family members of the named couple, herself.

What was interesting was that, while my Esmonde and Cornelia lived in Alabama, this house was in Virginia. Turns out, one of their children—a daughter—had married and had children of her own. That woman's daughter eventually moved and bought the home in Virginia, where eventually her mother—Esmonde and Cornelia's daughter—also came to live.

Of course, Pat's next thought was to see if either this woman or her daughter, though selling the house, still remained in the same city. It was a long shot to attempt that connection, because Esmonde and Cornelia's daughter would now be well into her nineties.

Pat's message to me continued,

I'm going to try and locate them. If I fail then I will scan the pictures and send them to you. I'll let you know how it all turns out.

True to her word, a little over two weeks later, I heard back from Pat. She wanted to provide an update. She did, indeed, find the daughter of Esmonde and Cornelia Meriwether. As Pat put it, that daughter is now "ninety five years young."

Pat's enthusiasm is infectious, as she reflects on her meeting and what she was able to return to family:

I met with her this morning and was able to give her the box of old pictures. She was delighted and very grateful. These were pictures of her husband, her brother..., herself as a young woman and a beautiful picture of her mother. There were also pictures of her daughter and her grandchildren. So glad I made the effort; her joy was worth it. I love happy endings.

When Connie, the blogger behind Forgotten Old Photos first gave me the nudge to start looking for "orphan photos" and figuring out how to return them to family, I discovered this same joy. While the result may be a small victory, it is a happy ending. Now that I've had that experience, I'm eager to encourage others to go out and do the same.

With this unexpected contact, thanks to the cousin bait inherent in genealogy blogging, I got to witness first hand another researcher's chance to experience that same altruistic joy over having put those research skills to good use. It's a different kind of genealogical kindness—perhaps even somewhat random. But just as rewarding to know that the skills we possess can be a blessing to others.

Above: "Still Life with Robin's Nest," 1863 oil on canvas by American artist Fidelia Bridges; courtesy Wikipedia; in the public domain.
   

Thinking of August

Yes, I know August is just a few days away. It isn't the calendar that prompts my thoughts about August, though. It's the full circle of an eighty year long journey that is finally going to be completed in just a few days. And I can't wait until it happens.

If you recall, just after Christmas in 2016, I began a series in an attempt to figure out the origin of a mystery photograph album I found in an antique store near my home.

With work on the puzzle taking nearly four months to conclude—and with lots of help from many interested friends—the album which was sent as a Christmas present in 1936 finally gave up some of its secrets. The senders, it turns out, were one Harry and Alice Reid from County Cork in Ireland. The recipients may well have been the family of Harry's emigrant brother Richard, by then living in upstate New York.

By mid-March, I was talking to the granddaughter of Harry and Alice, who then put me in touch with the suspected recipient—well, actually, Richard's daughter, who now lives in Oklahoma. By the second week of May, that little photo album—no longer a mystery—began the first leg of its journey home to Ireland when I mailed it to Richard's daughter Rita, who wanted to see it once again.

And now begins the rest of the journey homeward. And this is why August is on my mind: in a matter of days, Rita's daughter will be traveling to visit family in Ireland. When she returns to County Cork, she will be bringing that little album, which she'll return to Harry and Alice Reid's granddaughter in the very place where the journey once started.

Of course, I'm thrilled to see the album come home again. But more than that, I'm pleased to see others catch that same enthusiasm for finding tokens of micro-history—those small treasures representing a family's history—and personally becoming part of the solution in guiding those objects back home to those who will appreciate their return.

Just the other day, someone found me courtesy of an online search, on account of that very issue: trying to reunite photographs with family. I'll share that story tomorrow, but as it turned out, those who are familiar with genealogical research techniques are already suited to the task at hand. And once the goal is accomplished and the objects reunited with the family of origin, the enthusiasm for sharing a part in that process is indeed contagious.

The beauty of stories such as this is that we all can play our part in reuniting these lost treasures with their families of origin. As one, then another success story makes its way out, to be shared with others, the effort seems to be amplified. More people realize ways they can help. The dynamics of crowdsourcing kick in, and word spreads—perhaps through blogs or social media, perhaps through groups or friends-of-friends. The more that help, the more those success stories multiply.

We are all so much more inter-connected than we realize, especially in this age of instant and global contact online. In an unofficial yet organically-grown way, our genealogical skills are leading us to a very different kind of Random Acts of Genealogical Kindness.

Above: Front cover of a photograph album sent as a Christmas gift from an Irish couple, Harry and Alice Reid, to an undisclosed recipient in 1936. The album is soon to make the final part of its journey home.   

Burned Up

Finding the maiden name for the woman later known as Sarah Stinebaugh was a coup. At least, that's what I thought when I stumbled upon that suggestion, gleaned from her daughter Margaret Melvina's death certificate.

However, we all know how unreliable an "official" document like that can be. Think of it: everyone stressed over the ordeal of the past few days—or, in the case of some terminal illnesses, the past few months—then suddenly expected to deliver the details of vital records to a stranger, when every mention of the topic might just bring on another volley of heaving sobs.

The way I see it, Sarah's maiden name might have been Kinslow, just as her daughter's family reported it.

Or, it could have been something entirely different. I had to go take a look.

So back to the records for the county in Missouri where I once found the Stinebaugh family living: Dallas County.

I began my due diligence with a cursory glance at the wiki posted for the county among the many pages at FamilySearch.org. It was interesting, in looking for possible marriage records of a Sarah Kinslow and our William Stinebaugh, to stumble upon this map of Missouri counties, along with a listing of what marriage records might be found in each county. Scrolling down the chart to the county I was seeking—Dallas—I was disappointed to see their marriage records only dated back to 1886.

That would be a far cry from our target date range of 1857 through 1859.

I headed over to the FamilySearch wiki for general information on the county. There, I briefed myself on the historic overview of the county: seeing that it was created in 1841, that it was carved out of territory previously belonging to Polk County, and that it was originally named Niangua County.

Googling for further information, I stumbled upon the resurrected Random Acts of Genealogical Kindness site. There, the landing page for the state provided some basic facts for the counties in Missouri—the kind of stuff genealogy researchers find helpful. I took a cursory glance at the list of counties, scrolling down to Dallas County and reading, basically, the same information I had just read back on the FamilySearch wiki.

And then I saw it: the clickable links in a navigation bar just above the list of counties. Sandwiched in between the choices, "List of Missouri Counties" and the intriguing entry, "List of Missouri Extinct Counties," was the middle choice: "List of Missouri Burned Courthouses."

Oh, yeah. Burned counties. I had heard stuff about that. No, correct that: I had been witness to grown adults melting down in vented frustration over their personal burned courthouse. Their own research Waterloo. The end of the line. The reason why so many people have impassible Brick Walls.

It looked like I was now going to join that statistic. I clicked on the link. (Cue murder mystery sound track here.)

The link led to a narrative, explaining the significance of burned courthouses. True enough, the opening paragraph expressed what I've learned from others who've faced this research problem:

Not only are these historic buildings ripped from each of our lifetimes, so are the archives they kept....

I scrolled down the long list of Missouri counties hit by this scourge. Sure enough, among the wounded and dispatched was Dallas County. Hit by Confederate troops on October 18, 1863, the remaining Dallas County courthouse records were subsequently also consumed by two fires occurring in their temporary replacement quarters in both 1864 and 1867.

Fat chance I'd find my marriage record for William Stinebaugh and his bride, Sarah, in that mess.

Perhaps, my ever-hopeful inner voice chirped up, there will be another way to find this...


 

Could This Be the One?

I’ve always loved getting mail, and that enthusiasm is in no way diminished by the fact that, some days, that loveable mail shows up in digital form.

My faith in those Random Acts of Genealogical Kindness still lives: a greatly-appreciated volunteer responded to one of my forum queries about our initials-only mystery man, D. R. Rickard of Rockford, Illinois, who was part of the boot camp company photo from my father-in-law’s Navy days.

Of course, all this is beholden to the proviso that “D. R.” actually stands for “Donald Ray” and that we have the right World War II veteran that hails from the Rickard family in Rockford, Illinois. Otherwise, our search will be rocketed back to the proverbial square one.

In response to my forum request, here’s the gist of the obituary that this volunteer posted, found in the Rockford Register Star, published on December 28, 1991:

“Scottsdale, Ariz.—Funeral services for former Rockford resident Donald R. Rickard, 67, who died at his Scottsdale home Wednesday, will be at 2 p.m. PST today at Abiding Savior Lutheran Church, Tempe, Ariz. The World War II Navy veteran and aerospace engineer left Rockford for Arizona 22 years ago. He was employed with Garrett Auxiliary Power Division. He was a member of Roscoe Masonic Lodge 75 A.F. & A.M., Freeport Consistory and Tin Can Sailors.”

The obituary went on to list the surviving children and sibling living in the Rockford area, and to mention that burial would be at Green Acres Cemetery in Scottsdale.

The heartening thing about receiving this obituary is that, of the twelve men listed on the back of my father-in-law’s photo, this appears to be one of the few we've found who didn’t seem to have left life forgotten or alone. If this is indeed the D. R. Rickard we’re looking for, he had a successful career as well as family.

The interesting thing about the listing of Donald Ray Rickard’s memberships is the mention of the Tin Can Sailors. That very online entity was my means of finding a Donald Rickard listing—for the USS Ault, if you remember—and yet, the family member originally posting there on behalf of that Donald Rickard has contacted me to say that that Donald Rickard had a different middle name. When I look up the ship’s mates’ entries for the USS Mayrant on the Tin Can Sailors website, there is no listing for our D. R. Rickard. I am not surprised, though—while the Tin Can Sailors (officially The National Association of Destroyer Veterans) was founded in 1976, I imagine their web presence followed subsequent to Mr. Rickard’s passing.

I’m still awaiting any emails (or maybe blog comments) from Rickard family members who might be able to pick our D. R. Rickard out of the Company 162 photograph. Until then, I won’t be able to rest my case that this D. R. Rickard is the Donald Rickard of Scottsdale, Arizona. But at least I know the Scottsdale Rickard was a World War II Navy vet, too. And for that service, I’d like to say he has my gratitude—whoever he turns out to be.

  

Photograph, top left: USS Mayrant (DD 402) at anchor, prior to 1942; courtesy Wikipedia; photograph in the public domain.

Can’t Beat Free and Online

Sometimes the presumption is that hobbies cost money—lots of money. However, despite spending a small chunk for the program I use to organize my genealogy database, I’ve been able to find several online resources that cost me absolutely nothing to use.

There are pockets of shared material scattered all over the internet. The trick is finding where these gems are salted away. One approach is to Google your target names. Another is to use those trusty forums and ask, “Where would I find this?” A third way is to go to the giants that everyone knows and respects and see how much information can be found there—a sort of one-stop genealogical shopping trip, virtual big-box version.

Google is ubiquitous in the online world. I see no reason to ignore its finding power when doing family research. If I have a name I want to research—provided it isn’t too common—I plug it into Google’s little box to see what comes up, putting quote marks around the full name. Since we’re now also immersed in a world that includes social networking sites like Facebook and LinkedIn, sometimes that research strategy gets flooded with too many current-day hits, so I’ve had to modify my approach and add a second search term, like “obituary” or “genealogy” to hone in on what I’m looking for. While that approach doesn’t always get me great results, it sometimes leads me to sites I hadn’t previously been aware of.

As far as the forums go, I can’t say enough positive things about those resources. Many of these sites are peopled with patient and experienced peers—people just like us who love doing family research and are happy to share what they’ve learned along the way. Even if I’m posting a query hoping for Some Kind Soul to volunteer to help me, I inevitably find someone who subscribes to the “teach a man to fish” theory and gives me a short lesson in where I can find more about the answer I’m seeking, rather than give me the handout that only “feeds” me for a day’s worth of genealogical “meals.” I’ve learned about so many free online resources that way. I’m always sure to mark those new-found sites in a genealogy folder in my Favorites file for future reference.

While it is handy to learn about the best place to find obituaries posted in Saskatoon or Regina, or marriage records posted in New Lexington, you can’t beat finding all your research answers in one convenient location. That’s why the many changes to the FamilySearch site have been so exciting. From a streamlined entry screen, you may be able to access everything from census records to actual copies of key documents for several family members. And to think that, only a few years ago, this website featured little more than the transcribed records of the 1880 US Census!

Coupled with this website is a beta version that was used in developing what is available at FamilySearch today. That site has been a bonanza of scanned documents for many of my 19^th century relatives, particularly those resident in the Midwest.

As with many of the resources that can be found online, the aging process becomes an enhancement process: the more these sites are able to augment their holdings, the more that means success in your search ventures.

But why wait? Try entering some of your ancestors’ names in these sites now and take a look at what comes up. You may find—as I did one recent afternoon—that it is hard to pull yourself away from all the material you are uncovering with just the click of your mouse.

Giving Back

I don’t suppose it would be possible to pursue genealogy research without the help of others. Many others.

This is one hobby where you just cannot be afraid to ask questions. The good news is: there are many other hobbyists out there who are happy to provide answers.

They have learned the art of giving back.

When I started researching my husband’s Stevens and Tully roots in Chicago, I was a total stranger to the city. The “many hands make light work” philosophy picked up and carried me where my lack of familiarity had left me. I was introduced to all sorts of resources by the many knowledgeable peers at Cook County forums hosted by Rootsweb and GenForum.

It was the same way when I journeyed to New York City in my research.

I learned where the pockets of helpful people were: the Brooklyn Rootsweb site had saints who were patient with newbies, while some other New York sites seemed stocked with elitists eager to snub anyone not yet delving into the 1600s in their research.

I discovered volunteers willing to look up obituaries for me in obscure corners of North Dakota or Manitoba. I found shutterbugs happy to snap a requested photo of a grave site. I got an education in Random Acts Of Genealogical Kindness.

Volunteers were all over the place. Some indexed and organized. Some photocopied. Some got technical and developed websites.

And I got to sit back in my easy chair and surf for information in the comfort of a place free of dust and broken microfilm-reading machines.

There is something about those Random Acts of Genealogical Kindness, though. One good turn seemed to beg for another. And, considering the richness of my growing family tree database, I had certainly reaped well what others had sown.

It got me to thinking. If I don’t pass on the good that’s benefited me, who will get to reap these blessings in the future? I realized I’m a link in a chain.

And so I became part of the many hands that are lightening the work for others. It’s so easy: volunteer any knowledge you have on a forum. Give back by doing a lookup in your area. Share your family history data online. Support a Historical Society in one of the towns where your ancestors lived.

Random Acts of Genealogical Kindness can be simple, one-time gestures. They don’t need to be burdensome time commitments. They can just be something you do on your next trip to the library. Just look up your own state or province and county in one of the forums and see if anyone has posted a request for help. Be the eyes and ears in your town for one day for a fellow researcher from miles away. The benefits we reap from our mutual endeavors are only as good as each of our efforts make them.