Dipping that Big Toe in Before the Leap Across the Pond

 

Why is it that family history research "across the pond" can provoke such trepidation? I can push my way through documents with ease, generation by generation in my home country, but task me with adding the burden of a foreign language and I totally lose it.

Even though we've come this way before, sifting through what records can be found on my paternal grandparents' families in Poland, it was a strange feeling to go back to those oft-used websites after a year away from the task. It is one thing to attach U.S. census records, decade after decade, to my American ancestors; for a routine like that, I think little of it. When it comes to wrestling with proof arguments over whether I'm chasing the right John Smith—instead of his cousin by the same name—it may be tedious in English, but terrifying in Polish.

Still, that's my goal for this month: to find anything new on the generations of my paternal grandmother Sophie Laskowska. So my first step was to pull up the websites which had helped me in the past. Of course, I first stopped at Cyndi's List to find her list of all Polish categories, and then specifically to the list for Polish births, marriages and deaths. There was a reason for this first step: to my horror, I discovered I hadn't bookmarked the go-to sites I had used in past years, nor had I entered them in my "resources" file.

Thankfully, it wasn't too hard to recognize those website names, even if I can't pronounce them. My number one site in this quest has been the Poznan Project, named for and dedicated to records from the old Prussian province of Posen, now in Poland called Poznań. Of course, with border changes over the centuries through wars and power struggles, my grandmother's village of Żerków is no longer considered part of that old province, but when her family lived there over a century ago, that is where the records were kept.

It is to those records—and those of generations before her—that I'll turn my attention this month. Before we look for any updates in the collection, though, another task before us is to refresh our understanding of Polish phonics and key words to guide us through this foreign-language record set. Without having to learn an entire language before beginning our research, knowing a few Polish genealogical terms will allow us to use them as way-markers as we take our first tentative steps into the Poznan Project and beyond.  

The Trail to the Past: What I Know Now

 

Pushing our way back through the generations is the goal of every family historian, but that task is more complicated for some stories. Mine is one of those messier stories.

This month, I'll be reviewing my past progress in discovering the roots of my paternal grandmother, Sophie Laskowska. Because she was born in Poland—but I didn't know that—tracing her roots put my first steps on a huge learning curve.

A second research handicap was a lack of personal knowledge: Sophie died before I was even born. Not only did I never meet her personally, but I never even saw pictures of her. My father never spoke of her. He never even mentioned her name.

While others may be able to dip into a treasure trove of oral history shared by family members, I was not even a penny-pinching genealogist. I started with almost nothing, as far as clues to get me started. So I started my search with my own father; at least I knew his name. That, at least, illustrates a principle in family history searches: start with yourself, and move backwards through the generations incrementally, cementing each step of the way with documentation.

Finding my father in his parents' home, I could then glean information about each of those parents. What I didn't know then—but have learned by now—was that my father's parents, when I first found them, went by an alias. I have yet to find any actual court record permitting a change of identity for my paternal grandfather, but much like before-and-after pictures, I caught glimpses of a family before a certain date going by one surname, then—presto!—after that date, appearing under the surname I inherited in a subsequent generation. I guess, in a way, you could call me nameless, for that surname really wasn't the true family name.

Even though I have yet to find the marriage record for Sophie and her husband, I was fortunate that after her marriage, she and her husband lived in her parents' apartment in Brooklyn, New York. They stayed there long enough to have given birth to my father and his sister before obtaining their own home. Discoveries like these made me a true believer in examining every document on a family's timeline—every line, every detail for every step of the way. Every federal and state census, every newspaper report, every vital record I could find made it into the collection from which I assembled the mosaic of Sophie's story.

I learned from passenger records that Sophie, her mother Marianna, and her older brothers Johann and Miczislaus set sail for New York City from Hamburg, Germany, on February 3, 1889, to meet her father Antoni Laskowski in that brand new world. I found confirmation of that event—plus the detail that Sophie's brother had red hair—from Johann's (now John's) naturalization records. And I eventually learned from Sophie's father's 1935 death certificate that Antoni's parents' names were Mateusz Laskowski and Elżbieta Gramlewicz. Most importantly, I discovered that the Laskowskis came from a tiny town in the Polish region of Poznan called Żerków.

Then came the past few years, when I discovered some online Polish resources. To use them, I had to learn some key words in Polish—and more importantly, learn how the Polish pronounce what to the American eye looks like jaw-breaking consonant combinations.

Despite acquiring these few research tools, there is a long way yet to go on this Laskowski research trail. After all, to have found Mateusz and Elżbieta means that now I know the names of my second great-grandparents. For those researchers who can trace their American ancestors back to colonial times, that is barely a start. For those researching immigrant roots, though, the path to discovery can be an uphill struggle.

My first task, then, will be to review the Polish record sources I've found in past research cycles, then visit those online resources to see whether anything new has been added to their collections. Then, hopefully, we can add to what is already known about Sophie's parents and grandparents. After that point, we'll push into the frontier, so to speak, and see what else might now be available for those of us researching our Polish roots.

Meet Sophie

 

Sophie was my paternal grandmother. She is likely one of the top reasons why I was drawn to pursuing family history in the first place. Besides her husband—my even more tight-lipped grandfather—she was a black hole in the family constellation.

For whatever reason, my grandfather did not want anyone to know where he really came from. At times, he represented himself as someone born in Brooklyn, New York. At other times—and I wonder whether it was because he surely had to have spoken with an accent—he capitulated and admitted he was foreign-born. But despite the very Irish-sounding surname he went by, the man actually came from Poland. But that was a story he never told.

It was a part of Sophie's family which prevented my grandfather from fully pulling off his ruse. Sophie's parents were Antoni and Marianna Laskowski, a clue that the Irish story wasn't quite what the tale should have been. When her parents became elderly and unable to live on their own, everything from snippets of a foreign language being spoken to dress, food, and other customs were too obvious to hide the truth of the matter.

Still, it was hard for us curious cousins to figure out what the story really was. Even though a doting grandfather, Sophie's husband would not tell anything about his past, no matter how much his oldest grandchildren would pester him with questions. Sending for a snail-mailed copy of Sophie's death certificate was my first chance to see any confirmation of her parents' names. With a surname like Laskowski entered as her father's surname, the answer became straightforward and clear.

Over the years—but ever so slowly—I've learned a bit more about the Laskowskis. The discovery of a 1920 census entry where the enumerator failed to follow official instructions allowed me a peek into just where in Poland Sophie's family once lived. Researching collateral lines—Sophie had two brothers, John and Michael—helped confirm I was on the right path. That exercise also helped right some errors gleaned from previous mistaken entries, such as the wrong name given on her death certificate as Sophie's mother's maiden name.

Stepping back beyond the Laskowskis' arrival in New York City during the late 1800s, however, was a bigger challenge. Unlike online search results for other international records, there are not as many available for Poland. Partly, the history of the region is to blame—everything from a war-torn history to the messy power plays of an empire no longer in existence overran Poland and all the records it contained. The language issue was another obstacle to confront. But there is also a dearth of digitized records from Poland and its predecessor governments to confront, as well.

Over the last few years, there have been local initiatives in regions of Poland to make more records available online. Every year I return to see what is available, I find more information. That is a good thing. I hope it is still a continuing process. My hope with this month's research goal is to find additional resources to help me piece together the story of Sophie's parents and grandparents and their collateral lines, both in New York and in Poland. 

DNA Does NOT Tell All

 

We are in such awe of what can be revealed by a DNA test that we presume there is nothing that vial of spit can't tell us. Cold cases yield the secrets that stumped detectives for decades, thanks to DNA tests, and we are impressed. Companies are finding ways to convince us that our DNA can not only pry into the deep recesses of our family's wandering origins but guide us in more mundane categories like what we need to eat for breakfast.

We need to take a step back from our bedazzled vantage point and remind ourselves of one point: DNA does not tell all—until we pair up two DNA tests. And those two tests can't simply be any two tests; they need to contain some semblance of a genetic match. Until another person who is also related to us tests their DNA, all we can tell from our test results are ethnicity and details specific to our own genes. When our test stands alone, for instance, it may show us our deep ancestry originated in northern Africa, or that we are predisposed to a higher risk of certain types of cancer. But whether an adoptee is a newly-discovered half sibling, or the man we always called "Dad" was not really our father, those are cases which need a match before they can begin revealing such discoveries.

I have to remind myself of that detail constantly, especially when I bemoan the lack of DNA matches on my father's side of the family tree. It's not that they aren't out there, despite a couple generations of immediate families with few descents also contributing to my research problem. My real problem is that I need some second and third cousins on my paternal side to decide to take a DNA test—but how can I convince them to do so when I don't even know who they are?

The bright spot in my lagging research progress on my father's family is my paternal grandmother's side. Unlike my secretive paternal grandfather, his wife—Sophie Laskowska—came to this country with two brothers, one of whom had several children. Their descendants are among the eight DNA matches showing on my ThruLines results at Ancestry.com.

Of course, I'd like to see more. With my tiny eight Laskowski matches, I confess to feelings of DNA jealousy when I see ThruLines results, for instance, on some of my husband's third great-grandparents numbering upwards of one hundred matches. And I remind myself that that is simply an artifact of many distant cousins all choosing to take a DNA test—and turning out to be a match to my husband's account.

"If only," I grumble. "If only more of my ancestor's descendants would take a DNA test." And I wait. And hope.

There is one exception to this sense of DNA-match solitude: a website with test takers who come from around the world. True, Ancestry.com is playing catch-up here, but I have far more matches from my paternal ancestors' homeland in Poland on MyHeritage than at any other DNA company. And this month, with my research goal to learn more about my Laskowski roots, I need to explore those connections and put the tools at MyHeritage to good use.

Tomorrow, we'll begin that learning process by introducing the family of my paternal grandmother, Sophie Laskowska, tracing her story back in time for the few generations I've already discovered. From there, we'll start probing the lines of descendants to see what other information can be gleaned on this family's history, both in the United States and in Poland.   

Keeping Your Eyes on Progress

 

Seeing progress can be encouraging. Like clockwork, I review my research progress, counting how many names I've added to the two main family tree databases I'm overseeing. That appears on my blog as my biweekly count. Since I've kept up this habit for years now, how could I have missed my last appointed recap? But for my mid-September check-in, I totally blasted past that routine.

Thus, for today's count, the numbers will tell the tale for an entire month's progress. This, of course, makes those numbers doubly encouraging.

For instance, on my own family's tree, last month saw the addition of 482 names. That family tree now includes 29,821 people. I suspect most of that progress can be attributed to a project I recently picked up behind the scenes to tidy up my Tilson line. If anything promising shows up in that exploration this year, I will likely add that as a goal for my Twelve Most Wanted for 2023.

Since my research goals for the past three months focused on my husband's family, there has been a good amount of progress shown there, as well. This past month brought in 186 newly-documented relatives, growing that tree to a total of 30,190 individuals.

Remember, trees of that size are examples of the type recommended by DNA coaches like Diahan Southard—more of a bush and less like a tree—the kind with low hanging fruit for DNA match exploration. I've been deliberately adding to those very wide trees of mine with that specific intent for years. I'm happy to say the effort has certainly paid off well, guiding me in attaching DNA matches to these trees.

Exploring a Polish Heritage for Family History Month

 

Suddenly, it's October! I don't know how you plan to celebrate Family History Month, but this month, I will be turning my attention to the family of my paternal grandmother, Sophie Laskowska.

Following a plan I drew up at the start of this year, I hope to blend what I can find on the Laskowski family—both in the United States and in Poland—with the matches which have been revealed to me though the five DNA companies where I've tested.

Consider this a sort of "fall cleaning" project for my father's little-known family history. Remember, it was my paternal grandfather who arrived on American shores, deciding he would keep his national identity a secret. Perhaps he didn't think his scheme through to the end, for he chose to marry a woman who shared his native heritage. As tight-lipped as the husband was, the wife's identity gave up at least part of that family's story.

This month will be my chance to revisit my research path from last year on the Laskowski family, examine what new DNA matches I've received from this Polish line, and see if I can connect some dots between DNA and documentation.

 

Wrapping up September

 

It's the last day of September. So much for my family history research goal for this month. I am still chasing clues and running in circles. Time to recap and lay down a research plan for the next time I wrestle with questions about John Stevens' second wife Eliza Murdock and her family.

The tight loop that has held us captive for the past two weeks was chasing after signs to determine whether we had found Eliza's younger sister Sarah—or stumbled upon her genealogical doppelganger. Just as her brother John's will had indicated, we found a married Sarah Nolan and her family in Indiana briefly for the 1860 census. And then she disappeared, only to resurface twenty years later for the 1880 census in Kansas—I think.

Following that discovery, I had hoped to find some documentation on the children named in that later census to pinpoint their mother's maiden name. Sounds easy enough—until we discovered that long-distance access to death records in either Kansas or Oklahoma, where the family moved next, could be spotty.

I haven't given up on this quest yet. But instead of pursuing end-of-life information in Kansas or Oklahoma on the Nolan children listed in the later census record, why not turn this problem on its head and look for records back where the younger children were born?

That's right: it's time to explore what can be found back in Indiana. According to the FamilySearch wiki, there is much to access. Though the wiki for Tippecanoe County doesn't quite beckon me in—it notes that most church records are held by the local church, and sagely advises, "check a phone directory"—thankfully, there is more than one way to find an answer in the FamilySearch wiki.

It's a good thing I've looked at microfilmed records before from Tippecanoe County—where the Irish immigrant Murdocks settled in Indiana—so I already know they can be accessed again. Sure enough, a separate wiki entry, specifically on Indiana Church Records, confirmed my memory of accessing Diocese of Lafayette records through the FamilySearch organization. In fact, records from all four Indiana dioceses can be accessed through the FamilySearch Library or at a local Family History Center.

Now, my plan will be to take a little field trip to a nearby center where I can explore those Lafayette baptismal records. Goal: find the mother's maiden name for any of the Nolan children listed in Sarah's 1880 household in Kansas. If those listed as born in Indiana—Samuel, Tony, Peter, Sabina, or Sarah—were indeed children of our Sarah Murdock, they likely would have been baptised in Lafayette.  

Of course, there is the great possibility that this was yet another Sarah Nolan, wife of another John, who settled in Indiana from 1862, when Samuel was born there, through baby Sarah's arrival in 1874. If that is the case, I need to know that, too. It's better, in family history research, to discover our mistakes than to perpetuate an error that we merely thought might be a shrewd guess.